FRUITFULNESS 

[FlCONDITE  ] 


FRUITFULNESS 

[FECONDITE] 


BY 

EMILE   ZOLA 


NEW   YORK 
DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE    &    CO. 

1900 


COPYRIGHT,    1899, 
BY   THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY. 

COPYRIGHT,  1900, 
BY  DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE   &   CO. 


This  book  has  been  protected,  both  in  translation  and  original,  by 
simultaneous  publication  in  France,  Great  Britain,  and  America. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  BARBARA  COLLEGE  LIBR. 


"  FRUITFULNESS  "  is  the  first  of  a  series  of  four  works 
in  which  M.  Zola  proposes  to  embody  what  he  considers 
to  be  the  four  cardinal  principles  of  human  life.  These 
works  spring  from  the  previous  series  of  The  Three  Cities  : 
"  Lourdes,"  "  Rome,"  and  "  Paris,"  which  dealt  with  the 
principles  of  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity.  The  last  scene  in 
"  Paris,"  when  Marie,  Pierre  Froment's  wife,  takes  her 
boy  in  her  arms  and  consecrates  him,  so  to  say,  to  the  city 
of  labor  and  thought,  furnishes  the  necessary  transition 
from  one  series  to  the  other.  "  Fruitfulness,"  says  M. 
Zola,  "  creates  the  home.  Thence  springs  the  city. 
From  the  idea  of  citizenship  comes  that  of  the  fatherland  ; 
and  love  of  country,  in  minds  fed  by  science,  leads  to  the 
conception  of  a  wider  and  vaster  fatherland,  comprising  all 
the  peoples  of  the  earth.  Of  these  three  stages  in  the 
progress  of  mankind,  the  fourth  still  remains  to  be  attained. 
I  have  thought  then  of  writing,  as  it  were,  a  poem  in  four 
volumes,  in  four  chants,  in  which  I  shall  endeavor  to  sum 
up  the  philosophy  of  all  my  work.  The  first  of  these 
volumes  is  l  Fruitfulness ' ;  the  second  will  be  called 
'  Work  ' ;  the  third,  <  Truth  ' ;  the  last,  l  Justice.'  In 
'  Fruitfulness '  the  hero's  name  is  Matthew.  In  the  next 
work  it  will  be  Luke ;  in  '  Truth,'  Mark ;  and  in  '  Jus- 
tice,' John.  The  children  of  my  brain  will,  like  the  four 
Evangelists  preaching  the  gospel,  diffuse  the  religion  of 
future  society,  which  will  be  founded  on  Fruitfulness, 
Work,  Truth,  and  Justice." 


vi  FRUITFULNESS 

This,  then,  is  M.  Zola's  reply  to  the  cry  repeatedly 
raised  by  his  hero,  Abbe  Pierre  Froment,  in  the  pages  of 
"  Lourdes,"  "  Paris,"  and  "  Rome  "  :  "A  new  religion,  a 
new  religion  !  "  Critics  of  those  works  were  careful  to 
point  out  that  no  real  answer  was  ever  returned  to  the 
Abbe's  despairing  call ;  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  one 
must  yet  wait  for  the  greater  part  of  that  answer,  since 
"  Fruitfulness,"  though  complete  as  a  narrative,  forms  but 
a  portion  of  the  whole.  It  is  only  after  the  publication  of 
the  succeeding  volumes  that  one  will  be  able  to  judge  how 
far  M.  Zola's  doctrines  and  theories  in  their  ensemble  may 
appeal  to  the  requirements  of  the  world. 

While  "  Fruitfulness,"  as  I  have  said,  constitutes  a  first 
instalment  of  M.  Zola's  conception  of  a  social  religion,  it 
embodies  a  good  deal  else.  The  idea  of  writing  some 
such  work  first  occurred  to  him  many  years  ago.  In 
1896  he  contributed  an  article  to  the  Paris  Figaro^  in 
which  he  said :  "  For  some  ten  years  now  I  have  been 
haunted  by  the  idea  of  a  novel,  of  which  I  shall,  doubtless, 
never  write  the  first  page.  .  .  .  That  novel  would  have 
been  called  '  Wastage '  .  .  .  and  I  should  have  pleaded 
in  it  in  favor  of  all  the  rights  of  life,  with  all  the  passion 
which  I  may  have  in  my  heart."  l  M.  Zola's  article  then 
proceeds  to  discuss  the  various  social  problems,  theories, 
and  speculations  which  are  set  forth  here  and  there  in  the 
present  work.  Briefly,  the  genesis  of  u  Fruitfulness  "  lies 
in  the  article  I  have  quoted. 

"  Fruitfulness "  is  a  book  to  be  judged  from  several 
standpoints.  It  would  be  unjust  and  absurd  to  judge  it 
from  one  alone,  such,  for  instance,  as  that  of  the  new  social 
religion  to  which  1  have  referred.  It  must  be  looked  at 
notably  as  a  tract  for  the  times  in  relation  to  certain  griev- 

1See  Nouvellt  Camfagne  (1896),  par  £mile  Zola.  Paris,  1897,  pp.  217- 
228. 


TRANSLATOR'S   PREFACE  vii 

ous  evils  from  which  France  and  other  countries  —  though 
more  particularly  France  —  are  undoubtedly  suffering. 
And  it  may  be  said  that  some  such  denunciation  of  those 
evils  was  undoubtedly  necessary,  and  that  nobody  was  bet- 
ter placed  to  pen  that  denunciation  than  M.  Zola,  who, 
alone  of  all  French  writers  nowadays,  commands  universal 
attention.  Whatever  opinion  may  be  held  of  his  writings, 
they  have  to  be  reckoned  with.  Thus,  in  preparing 
"  Fruitfulness,"  he  was  before  all  else  discharging  a  patri- 
otic duty,  and  that  duty  he  took  in  hand  in  an  hour  of 
cruel  adversity,  when  to  assist  a  great  cause  he  withdrew 
from  France  and  sought  for  a  time  a  residence  in  England, 
where  for  eleven  months  I  was  privileged  to  help  him  in 
maintaining  his  incognito.  "  Fruitfulness "  was  entirely 
written  in  England,  begun  in  a  Surrey  country  house,  and 
finished  at  the  Queen's  Hotel,  Norwood. 

It  would  be  superfluous  for  me  to  enter  here  into  all  the 
questions  which  M.  Zola  raises  in  his  pages.  The  evils 
from  which  F ranee  suffers  in  relation  to  the  stagnancy  of 
its  population,  are  well  known,  and  that  their  continuance 
—  if  continuance  there  be  —  will  mean  the  downfall  of 
the  country  from  its  position  as  one  of  the  world's  great 
powers  before  the  close  of  the  twentieth  century,  is  a 
mathematical  certainty.  That  M.  Zola,  in  order  to  com- 
bat those  evils,  and  to  do  his  duty  as  a  good  citizen  anx- 
ious to  prevent  the  decline  of  his  country,  should  have 
dealt  with  his  subject  with  the  greatest  frankness  and  out- 
spokenness, was  only  natural.  Moreover,  absolute  free- 
dom of  speech  exists  in  France,  which  is  not  the  case 
elsewhere.  Thus,  when  I  first  perused  the  original  proofs 
of  M.  Zola's  work,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  any 
version  of  it  in  the  English  language  would  be  well-nigh 
impossible.  For  some  time  I  remained  of  that  opinion, 
and  I  made  a  statement  to  that  effect  in  a  leading  literary 


viii  FRUITFULNESS 

journal.  Subsequently,  however,  my  views  became  modi- 
fied. "  The  man  who  is  ridiculous,"  wrote  a  French  poet, 
Barthelemy,  "  is  he  whose  opinions  never  change,"  and 
thus  I  at  last  reverted  to  a  task  from  which  I  had  turned 
aside  almost  in  despair. 

Various  considerations  influenced  me,  and  among  them 
was  the  thought  that  if  "  Fruitfulness  "  were  not  presented 
to  the  public  in  an  English  dress,  M.  Zola's  new  series 
would  remain  incomplete,  decapitated  so  far  as  British  and 
American  readers  were  concerned.  After  all,  the  criticisms 
dealing  with  the  French  original  were  solely  directed  against 
matters  of  form,  the  mould  in  which  some  part  of  the  work 
was  cast.  Its  high  moral  purpose  was  distinctly  recog- 
nized by  several  even  of  its  most  bitter  detractors.  For 
me  the  problem  was  how  to  retain  the  whole  ensemble  of 
the  narrative  and  the  essence  of  the  lessons  which  the 
work  inculcates,  while  recasting  some  portion  of  it  and 
sacrificing  those  matters  of  form  to  which  exception  was 
taken.  It  is  not  for  me  to  say  whether  I  have  succeeded 
in  the  task ;  but  I  think  that  nothing  in  any  degree  offen- 
sive to  delicate  susceptibilities  will  be  found  in  this  present 
version  of  M.  Zola's  book. 

The  English  reviews  of  the  French  original  showed  that 
if  certain  portions  of  it  were  deemed  indiscreet,  it  none 
the  less  teemed  with  admirable  and  even  delightful  pages. 
Among  the  English  reviewers  were  two  well-known  lady 
writers,  Madame  Darmesteter  (formerly  Miss  Mary  Rob- 
inson), and  Miss  Hannah  Lynch.  And  the  former  re- 
marked in  one  part  of  her  critique :  "  Even  this  short 
review  reveals  how  honest,  how  moral,  how  human  and 
comely  is  the  fable  of  Fecondite,"  *  while  the  latter  expressed 
the  view  that  the  work  was  "  eminently,  pugnaciously  vir- 
tuous in  M.  Zola's  strictly  material  conception  of  virtue." 

1  Manchester  Guardian,  October  27,  1899. 


TRANSLATOR'S    PREFACE  ix 

And  again  :  "  The  pages  that  tell  the  story  of  Mathieu  and 
Marianne,  it  must  be  admitted,  are  as  charming  as  possi- 
ble. They  have  a  bloom,  a  beauty,  a  fragrance  we  never 
expected  to  find  in  M.  Zola's  work.  The  tale  is  a  simple 
one :  the  cheerful  conquest  of  fortune  and  the  continual 
birth  of  offspring." 1 

Of  course,  these  lady  critics  did  not  favor  certain  fea- 
tures of  the  original,  and  one  of  them,  indeed,  referred  to 
the  evil  denounced  by  M.  Zola  as  a  mere  evil  of  the  hour, 
whereas  it  has  been  growing  and  spreading  for  half  a  cen- 
tury, gradually  sapping  all  the  vitality  of  France.  But 
beside  that  evil,  beside  the  downfall  of  the  families  it 
attacks,  M.  Zola  portrays  the  triumph  of  rectitude,  the  tri- 
umph which  follows  faith  in  the  powers  of  life,  and  obser- 
vance of  the  law  of  universal  labor.  "  Fruitfulness " 
contains  charming  pictures  of  homely  married  life,  delight- 
ful glimpses  of  childhood  and  youth :  the  first  smile,  the 
first  step,  the  first  word,  followed  by  the  playfulness  and  the 
flirtations  of  boyhood,  and  the  happiness  which  waits  on 
the  espousals  of  those  who  truly  love.  And  the  punish- 
ment of  the  guilty  is  awful,  and  the  triumph  of  the  right- 
eous is  the  greatest  that  can  be  conceived.  All  those 
features  have  been  retained,  so  far  as  my  abilities  have 
allowed,  in  the  present  version,  which  will  at  the  same 
time,  I  think,  give  the  reader  unacquainted  with  the  French 
language  a  general  idea  of  M.  Zola's  views  on  one  of  the 
great  questions  of  the  age,  as  well  as  all  the  essential  por- 
tions of  a  strongly  conceived  narrative. 

E.  A.  V. 

MERTON,  SURREY,  ENGLAND:  April,  1900. 

1  F ortnigbtly  Review,  January  1900. 


FRUITFULNESS 


i 

THAT  morning,  in  the  little  pavilion  of  Chantebled,  on 
the  verge  of  the  woods,  where  they  had  now  been  installed 
for  nearly  a  month,  Mathieu  was  making  all  haste  in  order 
that  he  might  catch  the  seven-o'clock  train  which  every  day 
conveyed  him  from  Janville  to  Paris.  It  was  already  half- 
past  six,  and  there  were  fully  two  thousand  paces  from  the 
pavilion  to  Janville.  Afterwards  came  a  railway  journey 
of  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  and  another  journey  of  at  least 
equal  duration  through  Paris,  from  the  Northern  Railway 
terminus  to  the  Boulevard  de  Crenelle.  He  seldom  reached 
his  office  at  the  factory  before  half-past  eight  o'clock. 

He  had  just  kissed  the  children.  Fortunately  they  were 
asleep ;  otherwise  they  would  have  linked  their  arms  about 
his  neck,  laughed  and  kissed  him,  being  ever  unwilling  to 
let  him  go.  And  as  he  hastily  returned  to  the  principal 
bed-room,  he  found  his  wife,  Marianne,  in  bed  there,  but 
awake  and  sitting  up.  She  had  risen  a  moment  before  in 
order  to  pull  back  a  curtain,  and  all  the  glow  of  that  radiant 
May  morning  swept  in,  throwing  a  flood  of  gay  sunshine 
over  the  fresh  and  healthy  beauty  of  her  four-and-twenty 
years.  He,  who  was  three  years  the  elder,  positively  adored 
her. 

"  You  know,  my  darling,"  said  he,  "  I  must  make  haste, 
for  I  fear  I  may  miss  the  train  —  and  so  manage  as  well  as 
you  can.  You  still  have  thirty  sous  left,  haven't  you  ?  " 

She  began  to  laugh,  looking  charming  with  her  bare  arms 
and  her  loose-flowing  dark  hair.  The  ever-recurring  pe- 


2  FRUITFULNESS 

cuniary  worries  of  the  household  left  her  brave  and  joyous. 
Yet  she  had  been  married  at  seventeen,  her  husband  at 
twenty,  and  they  already  had  to  provide  for  four  children. 

"  Oh  !  we  shall  be  all  right,"  said  she.  "  It's  the  end  of 
the  month  to-day,  and  you'll  receive  your  money  to-night. 
I'll  settle  our  little  debts  at  Janville  to-morrow.  There  are 
only  the  Lepailleurs,  who  worry  me  with  their  bill  for  milk 
and  eggs,  for  they  always  look  as  if  they  fancied  one  meant 
to  rob  them.  But  with  thirty  sous,  my  dear!  why,  we 
shall  have  quite  a  high  time  of  it !  " 

She  was  still  laughing  as  she  held  out  her  firm  white 
arms  for  the  customary  morning  good-by. 

"  Run  off,  since  you  are  in  a  hurry.  I  will  go  to  meet 
you  at  the  little  bridge  to-night." 

"  No,  no,  I  insist  on  your  going  to  bed  !  You  know 
very  well  that  even  if  I  catch  the  quarter-to-eleven-o'clock 
train,  I  cannot  reach  Janville  before  half-past  eleven.  Ah ! 
what  a  day  I  have  before  me  !  I  had  to  promise  the  Mor- 
anges  that  I  would  take  dejeuner  with  them  ;  and  this  even- 
ing Beauchene  is  entertaining  a  customer — a  business  dinner, 
which  I'm  obliged  to  attend.  So  go  to  bed,  and  have  a  good 
sleep  while  you  are  waiting  for  me." 

She  gently  nodded,  but  would  give  no  positive  promise. 
"  Don't  forget  to  call  on  the  landlord,"  she  added,  "  to  tell 
him  that  the  rain  comes  into  the  children's  bedroom.  It's 
not  right  that  we  should  be  soaked  here  as  if  we  were  on 
the  high-way,  even  if  those  millionnaires,  the  Seguins  du 
Hordel,  do  let  us  have  this  place  for  merely  six  hundred 
francs  a  year." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  I  should  have  forgotten  that.  I  will  call  on 
them,  I  promise  you." 

Then  Mathieu  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  there  was  no 
ending  to  their  leave-taking.  He  still  lingered.  She  had 
begun  to  laugh  again,  while  giving  him  many  a  kiss  in  return 
for  his  own.  There  was  all  the  love  of  bounding  health 
between  them,  the  joy  that  springs  from  the  most  perfect 
union,  as  when  man  and  wife  are  but  one  both  in  flesh  and 
in  soul. 


FRUITFULNESS  3 

"  Run  off,  run  off,  darling !  Remember  to  tell  Con- 
stance that,  before  she  goes  into  the  country,  she  ought  to 
run  down  here  some  Sunday  with  Maurice." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  will  tell  her — till  to-night,  darling." 

But  he  came  back  once  more,  caught  her  in  a  tight  em- 
brace, and  pressed  to  her  lips  a  long,  loving  kiss,  which  she 
returned  with  her  whole  heart.  And  then  he  hurried 
away. 

He  usually  took  an  omnibus  on  his  arrival  at  the  North- 
ern Railway  terminus.  But  on  the  days  when  only  thirty 
sous  remained  at  home  he  bravely  went  through  Paris  on 
foot.  It  was,  too,  a  very  fine  walk  by  way  of  the  Rue  la 
Fayette,  the  Opera-house,  the  Boulevards,  the  Rue  Royale, 
and  then,  after  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  the  Cours  la 
Reine,  the  Alma  bridge,  and  the  Quai  d'Orsay. 

Beauchene's  works  were  at  the  very  end  of  the  Quai 
d'Orsay,  between  the  Rue  de  la  Federation  and  the  Boule- 
vard de  Crenelle.  There  was  hereabouts  a  large  square 
plot,  at  one  end  of  which,  facing  the  quay,  stood  a  hand- 
some private  house  of  brickwork  with  white  stone  dress- 
ings, that  had  been  erected  by  Leon  Beauchene,  father  of 
Alexandre,  the  present  master  of  the  works.  From  the 
balconies  one  could  perceive  the  houses  which  were  perched 
aloft  in  the  midst  of  greenery  on  the  height  of  Passy,  be- 
yond the  Seine ;  whilst  on  the  right  arose  the  campanile  of 
the  Trocadero  palace.  On  one  side,  skirting  the  Rue  de 
la  Federation,  one  could  still  see  a  garden  and  a  little  house, 
which  had  been  the  modest  dwelling  of  Leon  Beauchene 
in  the  heroic  days  of  desperate  toil  when  he  had  laid  the 
foundations  of  his  fortune.  Then  the  factory  buildings 
and  sheds,  quite  a  mass  of  grayish  structures,  overtopped 
by  two  huge  chimneys,  occupied  both  the  back  part  of  the 
ground  and  that  which  fringed  the  Boulevard  de  Crenelle, 
the  latter  being  shut  off  by  long  windowless  walls.  This 
important  and  well-known  establishment  manufactured 
chiefly  agricultural  appliances,  from  the  most  powerful 
machines  to  those  ingenious  and  delicate  implements  on 
which  particular  care  must  be  bestowed  if  perfection  is  to 


4  FRUITFULNESS 

be  attained.  In  addition  to  the  hundreds  of  men  who 
worked  there  daily,  there  were  some  fifty  women,  burnish- 
ers and  polishers. 

The  entry  to  the  workshops  and  offices  was  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Federation,  through  a  large  carriage  way,  whence  one 
perceived  the  far-spreading  yard,  with  its  paving  stones  in- 
variably black  and  often  streaked  by  rivulets  of  steaming 
water.  Dense  smoke  arose  from  the  high  chimneys,  stri- 
dent jets  of  steam  emerged  from  the  roof,  whilst  a  low  rum- 
bling and  a  shaking  of  the  ground  betokened  the  activity 
within,  the  ceaseless  bustle  of  labor. 

It  was  thirty-five  minutes  past  eight  by  the  big  clock  of 
the  central  building  when  Mathieu  crossed  the  yard  towards 
the  office  which  he  occupied  as  chief  designer.  For  eight 
years  he  had  been  employed  at  the  works  where,  after  a 
brilliant  and  special  course  of  study,  he  had  made  his  be- 
ginning as  assistant  draughtsman  when  but  nineteen  years 
old,  receiving  at  that  time  a  salary  of  one  hundred  francs  a 
month.  His  father,  Pierre  Froment,1  had  four  sons  by 
Marie  his  wife  —  Jean  the  eldest,  then  Mathieu,  Marc,  and 
Luc  —  and  while  leaving  them  free  to  choose  a  particular 
career  he  had  striven  to  give  each  of  them  some  manual 
calling.  Leon  Beauchene,  the  founder  of  the  works,  had 
been  dead  a  year,  and  his  son  Alexandre  had  succeeded  him 
and  married  Constance  Meunier,  daughter  of  a  very  wealthy 
wall-paper  manufacturer  of  the  Marais,  at  the  time  when 
Mathieu  entered  the  establishment,  the  master  of  which 
was  scarcely  five  years  older  than  himself.  It  was  there 
that  Mathieu  had  become  acquainted  with  a  poor  cousin  of 
Alexandre's,  Marianne,  then  sixteen  years  old,  whom  he 
had  married  during  the  following  year. 

Marianne,  when  only  twelve,  had  become  dependent 
upon  her  uncle,  Leon  Beauchene.  After  all  sorts  of  mis- 
haps a  brother  of  the  latter,  one  Felix  Beauchene,  a  man  of 
adventurous  mind  but  a  blunderhead,  had  gone  to  Algeria 
with  his  wife  and  daughter,  there  to  woo  fortune  afresh ; 
and  the  farm  he  had  established  was  indeed  prospering  when, 

1  Of  Lourdes,  Rome,  and  Paris. 


FRUITFULNESS  5 

during  a  sudden  revival  of  Arab  brigandage,  both  he  and 
his  wife  were  murdered  and  their  home  was  destroyed. 
Thus  the  only  place  of  refuge  for  the  little  girl,  who  had 
escaped  miraculously,  was  the  home  of  her  uncle,  who 
showed  her  great  kindness  during  the  two  years  of  life  that 
remained  to  him.  With  her,  however,  were  Alexandre, 
whose  companionship  was  rather  dull,  and  his  younger  sis- 
ter, Seraphine,  a  big,  vicious,  and  flighty  girl  of  eighteen, 
who,  as  it  happened,  soon  left  the  house  amid  a  frightful 
scandal  —  an  elopement  with  a  certain  Baron  Lowicz,  a 
genuine  baron,  but  a  swindler  and  forger,  to  whom  it  be- 
came necessary  to  marry  her.  She  then  received  a  dowry 
of  300,000  francs.  Alexandre,  after  his  father's  death, 
made  a  money  match  with  Constance,  who  brought  him 
half  a  million  francs,  and  Marianne  then  found  herself  still 
more  a  stranger,  still  more  isolated  beside  her  new  cousin, 
a  thin,  dry,  authoritative  woman,  who  ruled  the  home  with 
absolute  sway.  Mathieu  was  there,  however,  and  a  few 
months  sufficed  :  fine,  powerful,  and  healthy  love  sprang  up 
between  the  young  people ;  there  was  no  lightning  flash 
such  as  throws  the  passion-swayed  into  each  other's  arms, 
but  esteem,  tenderness,  faith,  and  that  mutual  conviction  of 
happiness  in  reciprocal  bestowal  which  tends  to  indissoluble 
marriage.  And  they  were  delighted  at  marrying  penniless,  at 
bringing  one  another  but  their  full  hearts  forever  and  for- 
ever. The  only  change  in  Mathieu's  circumstances  was 
an  increase  of  salary  to  two  hundred  francs  a  month. 
True,  his  new  cousin  by  marriage  just  vaguely  hinted  at  a 
possible  partnership,  but  that  would  not  be  till  some  very 
much  later  date. 

As  it  happened  Mathieu  Froment  gradually  became 
indispensable  at  the  works.  The  young  master,  Alexandre 
Beauchene,  passed  through  an  anxious  crisis.  The  dowry 
which  his  father  had  been  forced  to  draw  from  his  coffers 
in  order  to  get  Seraphine  married,  and  other  large  expenses 
which  had  been  occasioned  by  the  girl's  rebellious  and  per- 
verse conduct,  had  left  but  little  working  capital  in  the 
business.  Then,  too,  on  the  morrow  of  Leon  Beauchene's 


6  FRUITFULNESS 

death  it  was  found  that,  with  the  carelessness  often  evinced 
in  such  matters,  he  had  neglected  to  leave  a  will ;  so  that 
Seraphine  eagerly  opposed  her  brother's  interests,  demand- 
ing her  personal  share  of  the  inheritance,  and  even  suggest- 
ing the  sale  of  the  works.  The  property  had  narrowly 
escaped  being  cut  up,  annihilated.  And  Alexandre  Beau- 
chene  still  shivered  with  terror  and  anger  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  that  time,  amidst  all  his  delight  at  having  at  last  rid 
himself  of  his  sister  by  paying  her  in  money  the  liberally 
estimated  value  of  her  share.  It  was  in  order  to  fill  up  the 
void  thus  created  in  his  finances  that  he  had  espoused  the 
half-million  represented  by  Constance  —  an  ugly  creature, 
as  he  himself  bitterly  acknowledged,  coarse  male  as  he  was. 
Truth  to  tell,  she  was  so  thin,  so  scraggy,  that  before  con- 
senting to  make  her  his  wife  he  had  often  called  her  "  that 
bag  of  bones."  But,  on  the  other  hand,  thanks  to  his  mar- 
riage with  her,  all  his  losses  were  made  good  in  five  or  six 
years'  time;  the  business  of  the  works  even  doubled,  and 
great  prosperity  set  in.  And  Mathieu,  having  become  a 
most  active  and  necessary  coadjutor,  ended  by  taking  the 
post  of  chief  designer,  at  a  salary  of  four  thousand  two 
hundred  francs  per  annum. 

Morange,  the  chief  accountant,  whose  office  was  near 
Mathieu's,  thrust  his  head  through  the  doorway  as  soon  as 
he  heard  the  young  man  installing  himself  at  his  drawing- 
table.  "  I  say,  my  dear  Froment,"  he  exclaimed,  "  don't 
forget  that  you  are  to  take  dejeuner  with  us." 

"Yes,  yes,  my  good  Morange,  it's  understood.  I  will 
look  in  for  you  at  twelve  o'clock." 

Then  Mathieu  very  carefully  scrutinized  a  wash  draw- 
ing of  a  very  simple  but  powerful  steam  thresher,  an  inven- 
tion of  his  own,  on  which  he  had  been  working  for  some 
time  past,  and  which  a  big  landowner  of  Beauce,  M.  Firon- 
Badinier,  was  to  examine  during  the  afternoon. 

The  door  of  the  master's  private  room  was  suddenly 
thrown  wide  open  and  Beauchene  appeared — tall,  with  a 
ruddy  face,  a  narrow  brow,  and  big  brown,  protruding  eyes. 
He  had  a  rather  large  nose,  thick  lips,  and  a  full  black 


FRUITFULNESS  7 

beard,  on  which  he  bestowed  great  care,  as  he  likewise  did 
on  his  hair,  which  was  carefully  combed  over  his  head  in 
order  to  conceal  the  serious  baldness  that  was  already  com- 
ing upon  him,  although  he  was  scarcely  two-and-thirty. 
Frock-coated  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  he  was  already 
smoking  a  big  cigar;  and  his  loud  voice,  his  peals  of  gayety, 
his  bustling  ways,  all  betokened  an  egotist  and  good  liver 
still  in  his  prime,  a  man  for  whom  money  —  capital  in- 
creased and  increased  by  the  labor  of  others  —  was  the  one 
only  sovereign  power. 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  it's  ready,  is  it  not  ? "  said  he ;  "  Monsieur 
Firon-Badinier  has  again  written  me  that  he  will  be  here 
at  three  o'clock.  And  you  know  that  I'm  going  to  take 
you  to  the  restaurant  with  him  this  evening;  for  one  can 
never  induce  those  fellows  to  give  orders  unless  one  plies 
them  with  good  wine.  It  annoys  Constance  to  have  it 
done  here ;  and,  besides,  I  prefer  to  entertain  those  people 
in  town.  You  warned  Marianne,  eh  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  She  knows  that  I  shall  return  by  the  quar- 
ter-to-eleven-o'clock train." 

Beauchene  had  sunk  upon  a  chair :  "  Ah  !  my  dear  fel- 
low, I'm  worn  out,"  he  continued ;  "  I  dined  in  town  last 
night ;  I  got  to  bed  only  at  one  o'clock.  And  there  was  a 
terrible  lot  of  work  waiting  for  me  this  morning.  One 
positively  needs  to  be  made  of  iron." 

Until  a  short  time  before  he  had  shown  himself  a  pro- 
digious worker,  endowed  with  really  marvellous  energy  and 
strength.  Moreover,  he  had  given  proof  of  unfailing  busi- 
ness instinct  with  regard  to  many  profitable  undertakings. 
Invariably  the  first  to  appear  at  the  works,  he  looked  after 
everything,  foresaw  everything,  filling  the  place  with  his 
bustling  zeal,  and  doubling  his  output  year  by  year.  Re- 
cently, however,  fatigue  had  been  gaining  ground  on  him. 
He  had  always  sought  plenty  of  amusement,  even  amid 
the  hard-working  life  he  led.  But  nowadays  certain 
"  sprees,"  as  he  called  them,  left  him  fairly  exhausted. 

He  gazed  at  Mathieu  :  "You  seem  fit  enough,  you  do  !  " 
he  said.  "  How  is  it  that  you  manage  never  to  look  tired  ?  " 


8  FRUITFULNESS 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  young  man  who  stood  there  erect 
before  his  drawing-table  seemed  possessed  of  the  sturdy 
health  of  a  young  oak  tree.  Tall  and  slender,  he  had  the 
broad,  lofty,  tower-like  brow  of  the  Froments.  He  wore 
his  thick  hair  cut  quite  short,  and  his  beard,  which  curled 
slightly,  in  a  point.  But  the  chief  expression  of  his  face 
rested  in  his  eyes,  which  were  at  once  deep  and  bright, 
keen  and  thoughtful,  and  almost  invariably  illumined  by  a 
smile.  They  showed  him  to  be  at  once  a  man  of  thought 
and  of  action,  very  simple,  very  gay,  and  of  a  kindly  dis- 
position. 

"  Oh !  I,"  he  answered  with  a  laugh,  "  I  behave 
reasonably." 

But  Beauchene  protested:  "No,  you  don't!  The  man 
who  already  has  four  children  when  he  is  only  twenty-seven 
can't  claim  to  be  reasonable.  And  twins  too — your  Blaise 
and  your  Denis  to  begin  with  !  And  then  your  boy  Am- 
broise  and  your  little  girl  Rose.  Without  counting  the 
other  little  girl  that  you  lost  at  her  birth.  Including  her, 
you  would  now  have  had  five  youngsters,  you  wretched 
fellow  !  No,  no,  I'm  the  one  who  behaves  reasonably  — 
I,  who  have  but  one  child,  and,  like  a  prudent,  sensible 
man,  desire  no  others  !  " 

He  often  made  such  jesting  remarks  as  these,  through 
which  filtered  his  genuine  indignation ;  for  he  deemed  the 
young  couple  to  be  over-careless  of  their  interests,  and  de- 
clared that  the  prolificness  of  his  cousin  Marianne  was  quite 
scandalous. 

Accustomed  as  Mathieu  was  to  these  attacks,  which  left 
him  perfectly  serene,  he  went  on  laughing,  without  even 
giving  a  reply,  when  a  workman  abruptly  entered  the  room 
—  one  who  was  currently  called  "  old  Moineaud,"  though 
he  was  scarcely  three-and-forty  years  of  age.  Short  and 
thick-set,  he  had  a  bullet  head,  a  bull's  neck,  and  face  and 
hands  scarred  and  dented  by  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury of  toil.  By  calling  he  was  a  fitter,  and  he  had  come 
to  submit  a  difficulty  which  had  just  arisen  in  the  piecing 
together  of  a  reaping  machine.  But,  his  employer,  who 


FRUITFULNESS  9 

was  still  angrily  thinking  of  over-numerous  families,  did 
not  give  him  time  to  explain  his  purpose. 

"  And  you,  old  Moineaud,  how  many  children  have  you  ? " 
he  inquired. 

"  Seven,  Monsieur  Beauchene,"  the  workman  replied, 
somewhat  taken  aback.  "  I've  lost  three." 

"So,  including  them,  you  would  now  have  ten  ?  Well, 
that's  a  nice  state  of  things  !  How  can  you  do  otherwise 
than  starve  ?  " 

Moineaud  began  to  laugh  like  the  gay  thriftless  Paris 
workman  that  he  was.  The  little  ones  ?  Well,  they  grew 
up  without  his  even  noticing  it,  and,  indeed,  he  was  really 
fond  of  them,  so  long  as  they  remained  at  home.  And, 
besides,  they  worked  as  they  grew  older,  and  brought  a  little 
money  in.  However,  he  preferred  to  answer  his  employer 
with  a  jest  which  set  them  all  laughing. 

After  he  had  explained  the  difficulty  with  the  reaper,  the 
others  followed  him  to  examine  the  work  for  themselves. 
They  were  already  turning  into  a  passage,  when  Beauchene, 
seeing  the  door  of  the  women's  workshop  open,  determined 
to  pass  that  way,  so  that  he  might  give  his  customary  look 
around.  It  was  a  long,  spacious  place,  where  the  polishers, 
in  smocks  of  black  serge,  sat  in  double  rows  polishing  and 
grinding  their  pieces  at  little  work-boards.  Nearly  all  of 
them  were  young,  a  few  were  pretty,  but  most  had  low  and 
common  faces.  An  animal  odor  and  a  stench  of  rancid  oil 
pervaded  the  place. 

The  regulations  required  perfect  silence  there  during 
work.  Yet  all  the  girls  were  gossiping.  As  soon,  how- 
ever, as  the  master's  approach  was  signalled  the  chatter 
abruptly  ceased.  There  was  but  one  girl  who,  having  her 
head  turned,  and  thus  seeing  nothing  of  Beauchene,  went 
on  furiously  abusing  a  companion,  with  whom  she  had  pre- 
viously started  a  dispute.  She  and  the  other  were  sisters, 
and,  as  it  happened,  daughters  of  old  Moineaud.  Euphrasie, 
the  younger  one,  she  who  was  shouting,  was  a  skinny  crea- 
ture of  seventeen,  light-haired,  with  a  long,  lean,  pointed 
face,  uncomely  and  malignant ;  whereas  the  elder,  Norine, 


io  FRUITFULNESS 

barely  nineteen,  was  a  pretty  girl,  a  blonde  like  her  sister, 
but  having  a  milky  skin,  and  withal  plump  and  sturdy, 
showing  real  shoulders,  arms,  and  hips,  and  one  of  those 
bright  sunshiny  faces,  with  wild  hair  and  black  eyes,  all  the 
freshness  of  the  Parisian  hussy,  aglow  with  the  fleeting 
charm  of  youth. 

Norine  was  ever  quarrelling  with  Euphrasie,  and  was 
pleased  to  have  her  caught  in  a  misdeed  ;  so  she  allowed 
her  to  rattle  on.  And  it  thereupon  became  necessary  for 
Beauchene  to  intervene.  He  habitually  evinced  great 
severity  in  the  women's  workshop,  for  he  had  hitherto  held 
the  view  that  an  employer  who  jested  with  his  workgirls 
was  a  lost  man.  Thus,  in  spite  of  the  low  character  of 
which  he  was  said  to  give  proof  in  his  walks  abroad,  there 
had  as  yet  never  been  the  faintest  suggestion  of  scandal  in 
connection  with  him  and  the  women  in  his  employ. 

11  Well,  now,  Mademoiselle  Euphrasie  !  "  he  exclaimed  ; 
"  do  you  intend  to  be  quiet  ?  This  is  quite  improper.  You 
are  fined  twenty  sous,  and  if  I  hear  you  again  you  will  be 
locked  out  for  a  week." 

The  girl  had  turned  round  in  consternation.  Then, 
stifling  her  rage,  she  cast  a  terrible  glance  at  her  sister, 
thinking  that  she  might  at  least  have  warned  her.  But  the 
other,  with  the  discreet  air  of  a  pretty  wench  conscious  of 
her  attractiveness,  continued  smiling,  looking  her  employer 
full  in  the  face,  as  if  certain  that  she  had  nothing  to  fear 
from  him.  Their  eyes  met,  and  for  a  couple  of  seconds 
their  glances  mingled.  Then  he,  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
an  angry  air,  resumed,  addressing  one  and  all:  "As  soon 
as  the  superintendent  turns  her  back  you  chatter  away  like 
so  many  magpies.  Just  be  careful,  or  you  will  have  to  deal 
with  me !  " 

Moineaud,  the  father,  had  witnessed  the  scene  unmoved, 
as  if  the  two  girls — she  whom  the  master  had  scolded,  and 
she  who  slyly  gazed  at  him  —  were  not  his  own  daughters. 
And  now  the  round  was  resumed  and  the  three  men  quitted 
the  women's  workshop  amidst  profound  silence,  which  only 
the  whir  of  the  little  grinders  disturbed. 


FRUITFULNESS  n 

When  the  fitting  difficulty  had  been  overcome  downstairs 
and  Moineaud  had  received  his  orders,  Beauchene  returned 
to  his  residence  accompanied  by  Mathieu,  who  wished  to 
convey  Marianne's  invitation  to  Constance.  A  gallery  con- 
nected the  black  factory  buildings  with  the  luxurious  private 
house  on  the  quay.  And  they  found  Constance  in  a  little 
drawing-room  hung  with  yellow  satin,  a  room  to  which  she 
was  very  partial.  She  was  seated  near  a  sofa,  on  which  lay 
little  Maurice,  her  fondly  prized  and  only  child,  who  had 
just  completed  his  seventh  year. 

"  Is  he  ill  ?  "  inquired  Mathieu. 

The  child  seemed  sturdily  built,  and  he  greatly  resembled 
his  father,  though  he  had  a  more  massive  jaw.  But  he  was 
pale  and  there  was  a  faint  ring  round  his  heavy  eyelids. 
His  mother,  that  "  bag  of  bones,"  a  little  dark  woman,  yellow 
and  withered  at  six-and-twenty,  looked  at  him  with  an  ex- 
pression of  egotistical  pride. 

"Oh,  no  !  he's  never  ill,"  she  answered.  "Only  he  has 
been  complaining  of  his  legs.  And  so  I  made  him  lie 
down,  and  I  wrote  last  night  to  ask  Dr.  Boutan  to  call  this 
morning." 

"  Pooh ! "  exclaimed  Beauchene  with  a  hearty  laugh, 
"  women  are  all  the  same  !  A  child  who  is  as  strong  as  a 
Turk  !  I  should  just  like  anybody  to  tell  me  that  he  isn't 
strong." 

Precisely  at  that  moment  in  walked  Dr.  Boutan,  a  short, 
stout  man  of  forty,  with  very  keen  eyes  set  in  a  clean- 
shaven, heavy,  but  extremely  good-natured  face.  He  at 
once  examined  the  child,  felt  and  sounded  him ;  then  with 
his  kindly  yet  serious  air  he  said  :  "  No,  no,  there's  nothing. 
It  is  the  mere  effect  of  growth.  The  lad  has  become 
rather  pale  through  spending  the  winter  in  Paris,  but  a  few 
months  in  the  open  air,  in  the  country,  will  set  him  right 
again." 

"  I  told  you  so  !  "  cried  Beauchene. 

Constance  had  kept  her  son's  little  hand  in  her  own. 
He  had  again  stretched  himself  out  and  closed  his  eyes  in  a 
weary  way,  whilst  she,  in  her  happiness,  continued  smiling. 


12  FRUITFULNESS 

Whenever  she  chose  she  could  appear  quite  pleasant-looking, 
however  unprepossessing  might  be  her  features.  The  doctor 
had  seated  himself,  for  he  was  fond  of  lingering  and  chatting 
in  the  houses  of  friends.  A  general  practitioner,  and  one 
who  more  particularly  tended  the  ailments  of  women  and 
children,  he  was  naturally  a  confessor,  knew  all  sorts  of 
secrets,  and  was  quite  at  home  in  family  circles.  It  was 
he  who  had  attended  Constance  at  the  birth  of  that  much- 
spoiled  only  son,  and  Marianne  at  the  advent  of  the  four 
children  she  already  had. 

Mathieu  had  remained  standing,  awaiting  an  opportunity 
to  deliver  his  invitation.  "Well,"  said  he,  "if  you  are 
soon  leaving  for  the  country,  you  must  come  one  Sunday  to 
Janville.  My  wife  would  be  so  delighted  to  see  you  there, 
to  show  you  our  encampment." 

Then  he  jested  respecting  the  bareness  of  the  lonely 
pavilion  which  they  occupied,  recounting  that  as  yet  they 
possessed  only  a  dozen  plates  and  five  egg-cups.  But 
Beauchene  knew  the  pavilion,  for  he  went  shooting  in  the 
neighborhood  every  winter,  having  a  share  in  the  tenancy 
of  some  extensive  woods,  the  shooting-rights  over  which 
had  been  parcelled  out  by  the  owner. 

"  Seguin,"  said  he,  "  is  a  friend  of  mine.     I  have  lunched 

D  '  ' 

at  your  pavilion.      It's  a  perfect  hovel ! : 

Then  Constance,  contemptuous  at  the  idea  of  such  pov- 
erty, recalled  what  Madame  Seguin —  to  whom  she  referred 
as  Valentine  —  had  told  her  of  the  dilapidated  condition  of 
the  old  shooting-box.  But  the  doctor,  after  listening  with 
a  smile,  broke  in  : 

"  Mme.  Seguin  is  a  patient  of  mine.  At  the  time  when 
her  last  child  was  born  I  advised  her  to  stay  at  that  pavilion. 
The  atmosphere  is  wholesome,  and  children  ought  to  spring 
up  there  like  couch-grass." 

Thereupon,  with  a  sonorous  laugh,  Beauchene  began  to 
jest  in  his  habitual  way,  remarking  that  if  the  doctor  were 
correct  there  would  probably  be  no  end  to  Mathieu's  prog- 
eny, numerous  as  it  already  was.  But  this  elicited  an 
angry  protest  from  Constance,  who  on  the  subject  of  chil- 


FRUITFULNESS  13 

dren  held  the  same  views  as  her  husband  himself  professed 
in  his  more  serious  moments. 

Mathieu  thoroughly  understood  what  they  both  meant. 
They  regarded  him  and  his  wife  with  derisive  pity,  tinged 
with  anger. 

The  advent  of  the  young  couple's  last  child,  little  Rose, 
had  already  increased  their  expenses  to  such  a  point  that 
they  had  been  obliged  to  seek  refuge  in  the  country,  in  a 
mere  pauper's  hovel.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  Beauchene's 
sneers  and  Constance's  angry  remarks,  Mathieu  outwardly 
remained  very  calm.  Constance  and  Marianne  had  never 
been  able  to  agree ;  they  differed  too  much  in  all  respects ; 
and  for  his  part  he  laughed  off  every  attack,  unwilling  as 
he  was  to  let  anger  master  him,  lest  a  rupture  should  ensue. 

But  Beauchene  waxed  passionate  on  the  subject.  That 
question  of  the  birth-rate  and  the  present-day  falling  off  in 
population  was  one  which  he  thought  he  had  completely 
mastered,  and  on  which  he  held  forth  at  length  authorita- 
tively. He  began  by  challenging  the  impartiality  of  Bou- 
tan,  whom  he  knew  to  be  a  fervent  partisan  of  large  families. 
He  made  merry  with  him,  declaring  that  no  medical  man 
could  possibly  have  a  disinterested  opinion  on  the  subject. 
Then  he  brought  out  all  that  he  vaguely  knew  of  Malthu- 
sianism,  the  geometrical  increase  of  births,  and  the  arith- 
metical increase  of  food-substances,  the  earth  becoming  so 
populous  as  to  be  reduced  to  a  state  of  famine  within  two 
centuries.  It  was  the  poor's  own  fault,  said  he,  if  they  led 
a  life  of  starvation  ;  they  had  only  to  limit  themselves  to  as 
many  children  as  they  could  provide  for.  The  rich  were 
falsely  accused  of  social  wrong-doing;  they  were  by  no 
means  responsible  for  poverty.  Indeed,  they  were  the  only 
reasonable  people ;  they  alone,  by  limiting  their  families, 
acted  as  good  citizens  should  act.  And  he  became  quite 
triumphant,  repeating  that  he  knew  of  no  cause  for  self- 
reproach,  and  that  his  ever-growing  fortune  left  him  with 
an  easy  conscience.  It  was  so  much  the  worse  for  the 
poor,  if  they  were  bent  on  remaining  poor.  In  vain  did 
the  doctor  urge  that  the  Malthusian  theories  were  shattered, 


I4  FRUITFULNESS 

that  the  calculations  had  been  based  on  a  possible,  not  a 
real,  increase  of  population  ;  in  vain  too  did  he  prove  that 
the  present-day  economic  crisis,  the  evil  distribution  of 
wealth  under  the  capitalist  system,  was  the  one  hateful 
cause  of  poverty,  and  that  whenever  labor  should  be  justly 
apportioned  among  one  and  all  the  fruitful  earth  would 
easily  provide  sustenance  for  happy  men  ten  times  more 
numerous  than  they  are  now.  The  other  refused  to  listen 
to  anything,  took  refuge  in  his  egotism,  declared  that  all 
those  matters  were  no  concern  of  his,  that  he  felt  no  remorse 
at  being  rich,  and  that  those  who  wished  to  become  rich 
had,  in  the  main,  simply  to  do  as  he  had  done. 

"Then,  logically,  this  is  the  end  of  France,  eh  ?  "  Bou- 
tan  remarked  maliciously.  "  The  number  of  births  ever 
increases  in  Germany,  Russia,  and  elsewhere,  while  it 
decreases  in  a  terrible  way  among  us.  Numerically  the 
rank  we  occupy  in  Europe  is  already  very  inferior  to  what 
it  formerly  was ;  and  yet  number  means  power  more  than 
ever  nowadays.  It  has  been  calculated  that  an  average  of 
four  children  per  family  is  necessary  in  order  that  population 
may  increase  and  the  strength  of  a  nation  be  maintained. 
You  have  but  one  child ;  you  are  a  bad  patriot." 

At  this  Beauchene  flew  into  a  tantrum,  quite  beside  him- 
self, and  gasped  :  "  I  a  bad  patriot !  I,  who  kill  myself  with 
hard  work  !  I,  who  even  export  French  machinery  !  .  .  . 
Yes,  certainly  I  see  families,  acquaintances  around  me  who 
may  well  allow  themselves  four  children ;  and  I  grant  that 
they  deserve  censure  when  they  have  no  families.  But  as 
for  me,  my  dear  doctor,  it  is  impossible.  You  know  very 
well  that  in  my  position  I  absolutely  can't." 

Then,  for  the  hundredth  time,  he  gave  his  reasons,  relat- 
ing how  the  works  had  narrowly  escaped  being  cut  into 
pieces,  annihilated,  simply  because  he  had  unfortunately 
been  burdened  with  a  sister.  Seraphine  had  behaved 
abominably.  There  had  been  first  her  dowry  ;  next  her 
demands  for  the  division  of  the  property  on  their  father's 
death  ;  and  the  works  had  been  saved  only  by  means  of  a 
large  pecuniary  sacrifice  which  had  long  crippled  their 


FRUITFULNESS  15 

prosperity.  And  people  imagined  that  he  would  be  as 
imprudent  as  his  father!  Why,  if  Maurice  should  have  a 
brother  or  a  sister,  he  might  hereafter  find  himself  in  the 
same  dire  embarrassment,  in  which  the  family  property 
might  already  have  been  destroyed.  No,  no  !  He  would 
not  expose  the  boy  to  the  necessity  of  dividing  the  inheri- 
tance in  accordance  with  badly  framed  laws.  He  was 
resolved  that  Maurice  should  be  the  sole  master  of  the  for- 
tune which  he  himself  had  derived  from  his  father,  and 
which  he  would  transmit  to  his  heir  increased  tenfold. 
For  his  son  he  dreamt  of  supreme  wealth,  a  colossal  for- 
tune, such  as  nowadays  alone  ensures  power. 

Mathieu,  refraining  from  any  intervention,  listened  and 
remained  grave ;  for  this  question  of  the  birth-rate  seemed 
to  him  a  frightful  one,  the  foremost  of  all  questions,  decid- 
ing the  destiny  of  mankind  and  the  world.  There  has 
never  been  any  progress  but  such  as  has  been  determined 
by  increase  of  births.  If  nations  have  accomplished  evo- 
lutions, if  civilization  has  advanced,  it  is  because  the 
nations  have  multiplied  and  subsequently  spread  through 
all  the  countries  of  the  earth.  And  will  not  to-morrow's 
evolution,  the  advent  of  truth  and  justice,  be  brought  about 
by  the  constant  onslaught  of  the  greater  number,  the  revo- 
lutionary fruitfulness  of  the  toilers  and  the  poor  ? 

It  is  quite  true  that  Mathieu  did  not  plainly  say  all  these 
things  to  himself;  indeed,  he  felt  slightly  ashamed  of  the 
four  children  that  he  already  had,  and  was  disturbed  by  the 
counsels  of  prudence  addressed  to  him  by  the  Beauchenes. 
But  within  him  there  struggled  his  faith  in  life,  his  belief 
that  the  greatest  possible  sum  of  life  must  bring  about  the 
greatest  sum  of  happiness. 

At  last,  wishing  to  change  the  subject,  he  bethought 
himself  of  Marianne's  commission,  and  at  the  first  favora- 
ble opportunity  exclaimed  :  "  Well,  we  shall  rely  on  you, 
Marianne  and  I,  for  Sunday  after  next,  at  Janville." 

But  there  was  still  no  answer,  for  just  then  a  servant 
came  to  say  that  a  woman  with  an  infant  in  her  arms 
desired  to  see  Madame.  And  Beauchene,  having  recog- 


16  FRUITFULNESS 

nized  the  wife  of  Moineaud,  the  fitter,  bade  her  come  in. 
Boutan,  who  had  now  risen,  was  prompted  by  curiosity  to 
remain  a  little  longer. 

La  Moineaude,  short  and  fat  like  her  husband,  was  a 
woman  of  about  forty,  worn  out  before  her  time,  with 
ashen  face,  pale  eyes,  thin  faded  hair,  and  a  weak  mouth 
which  already  lacked  many  teeth.  A  large  family  had 
been  too  much  for  her ;  and,  moreover,  she  took  no  care 
of  herself. 

"  Well,  my  good  woman,"  Constance  inquired,  "  what 
do  you  wish  with  me  ?  " 

But  La  Moineaude  remained  quite  scared  by  the  sight 
of  all  those  people  whom  she  had  not  expected  to  find 
there.  She  said  nothing.  She  had  hoped  to  speak  to  the 
lady  privately. 

"  Is  this  your  last-born  ?  "  Beauchene  asked  her  as  he 
looked  at  the  pale,  puny  child  on  her  arm. 

41  Yes,  monsieur,  it's  my  little  Alfred  ;  he's  ten  months 
old  and  I've  had  to  wean  him,  for  I  couldn't  feed  him  any 
longer.  I  had  nine  others  before  this  one,  but  three  are 
dead.  My  eldest  son,  Eugene,  is  a  soldier  in  Tonquin. 
You  have  my  two  big  girls,  Euphrasie  and  Norine,  at  the 
works.  And  I  have  three  left  at  home  —  Victor,  who  is 
now  fifteen,  then  Cecile  and  Irma,  who  are  ten  and  seven. 
After  Irma  I  thought  I  had  done  with  children  for  good, 
and  I  was  well  pleased.  But,  you  see,  this  urchin  came  ! 
And  I,  forty  too  —  it's  not  just!  The  good  Lord  must 
surely  have  abandoned  us." 

Then  Dr.  Boutan  began  to  question  her.  He  avoided  look- 
ing at  the  Beauchenes,  but  there  was  a  malicious  twinkle 
in  his  little  eyes,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  took  pleasure 
in  recapitulating  the  employer's  arguments  against  excessive 
prolificness.  He  pretended  to  get  angry  and  to  reproach 
the  Moineauds  for  their  ten  wretched  children  —  the  boys 
fated  to  become  food  for  powder,  the  girls  always  liable  to 
misfortune.  And  he  gave  the  woman  to  understand  that 
it  was  her  own  fault  if  she  was  in  distress ;  for  people  with 
a  tribe  of  children  about  them  could  never  become  rich. 


FRUITFULNESS  17 

And  the  poor  creature  sadly  answered  that  he  was  quite 
right,  but  that  no  idea  of  becoming  rich  could  ever  have 
entered  their  heads.  Moineaud  knew  well  enough  that  he 
would  never  be  a  cabinet  minister,  and  so  it  was  all  the 
same  to  them  how  many  children  they  might  have  on  their 
hands.  Indeed,  a  number  proved  a  help  when  the  young- 
sters grew  old  enough  to  go  out  to  work. 

Beauchene  had  become  silent  and  slowly  paced  the  room. 
A  slight  chill,  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  was  springing  up, 
and  so  Constance  made  haste  to  inquire  :  "  Well,  my  good 
woman,  what  is  it  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Mon  Dieu,  madame,  it  worries  me ;  it's  something 
which  Moineaud  didn't  dare  to  ask  of  Monsieur  Beau- 
chene. For  my  part  I  hoped  to  find  you  alone  and  beg 
you  to  intercede  for  us.  The  fact  is  we  should  be  very, 
very  grateful  if  our  little  Victor  could  only  be  taken  on  at 
the  works." 

"  But  he  is  only  fifteen,"  exclaimed  Beauchene.  "  You 
must  wait  till  he's  sixteen.  The  law  is  strict." 

"  No  doubt.  Only  one  might  perhaps  just  tell  a  little  fib. 
It  would  be  rendering  us  such  a  service  —  " 

"  No,  it  is  impossible." 

Big  tears  welled  into  La  Moineaude's  eyes.  And 
Mathieu,  who  had  listened  with  passionate  interest,  felt 
quite  upset.  Ah  !  that  wretched  toil-doomed  flesh  that 
hastened  to  offer  itself  without  waiting  until  it  was  even 
ripe  for  work  !  Ah  !  the  laborer  who  is  prepared  to  lie, 
whom  hunger  sets  against  the  very  law  designed  for  his 
own  protection ! 

When  La  Moineaude  had  gone  off"  in  despair  the  doc- 
tor continued  speaking  of  juvenile  and  female  labor.  As 
soon  as  a  woman  first  finds  herself  a  mother  she  can  no 
longer  continue  toiling  at  a  factory.  Her  lying-in  and  the 
nursing  of  her  babe  force  her  to  remain  at  home,  or  else 
grievous  infirmities  may  ensue  for  her  and  her  offspring. 
As  for  the  child,  it  becomes  anaemic,  sometimes  crippled  ; 
besides,  it  helps  to  keep  wages  down  by  being  taken  to 
work  at  a  low  scale  of  remuneration.  Then  the  doctor 


i8  FRUITFULNESS 

went  on  to  speak  of  the  prolificness  of  wretchedness,  the 
swarming  of  the  lower  classes.  Was  not  the  most  hateful 
natality  of  all  that  which  meant  the  endless  increase  of 
starvelings  and  social  rebels? 

"  I  perfectly  understand  you,"  Beauchene  ended  by  say- 
ing, without  any  show  of  anger,  as  he  abruptly  brought  his 
perambulations  to  an  end.  "  You  want  to  place  me  in 
contradiction  with  myself,  and  make  me  confess  that  I 
accept  Moineaud's  seven  children  and  need  them,  whereas 
I,  with  my  fixed  determination  to  rest  content  with  an 
only  son,  suppress,  as  it  were,  a  family  in  order  that  I 
may  not  have  to  subdivide  my  estate.  France,  l  the  coun- 
try of  only  sons,'  as  folks  say  nowadays  —  that's  it,  eh? 
But,  my  dear  fellow,  the  question  is  so  intricate,  and  at 
bottom  I  am  altogether  in  the  right  i  " 

Then  he  wished  to  explain  things,  and  clapped  his  hand 
to  his  breast,  exclaiming  that  he  was  a  liberal,  a  democrat, 
ready  to  demand  all  really  progressive  measures.  He  wil- 
lingly recognized  that  children  were  necessary,  that  the 
army  required  soldiers,  and  the  factories  workmen.  Only 
he  also  invoked  the  prudential  duties  of  the  higher  classes, 
and  reasoned  after  the  fashion  of  a  man  of  wealth,  a  con- 
servative clinging  to  the  fortune  he  has  acquired. 

Mathieu  meanwhile  ended  by  understanding  the  brutal 
truth  :  Capital  is  compelled  to  favor  the  multiplication  of 
lives  foredoomed  to  wretchedness;  in  spite  of  everything  it 
must  stimulate  the  prolificness  of  the  wage-earning  classes, 
in  order  that  its  profits  may  continue.  The  law  is  that 
there  must  always  be  an  excess  of  children  in  order  that 
there  may  be  enough  cheap  workers.  Then  also  specula- 
tion on  the  wages'  ratio  wrests  all  nobility  from  labor,  which 
is  regarded  as  the  worst  misfortune  a  man  can  be  condemned 
to,  when  in  reality  it  is  the  most  precious  of  boons.  Such, 
then,  is  the  cancer  preying  upon  mankind.  In  countries 
of  political  equality  and  economical  inequality  the  capitalist 
regime,  the  faulty  distribution  of  wealth,  at  once  restrains 
and  precipitates  the  birth-rate  by  perpetually  increasing  the 
wrongful  apportionment  of  means.  On  one  side  are  the 


FRUITFULNESS  19 

rich  folk  with  "  only  "  sons,  who  continually  increase  their 
fortunes ;  on  the  other,  the  poor  folk,  who,  by  reason  of  their 
unrestrained  prolificness,  see  the  little  they  possess  crumble 
yet  more  and  more.  If  labor  be  honored  to-morrow,  if  a 
just  apportionment  of  wealth  be  arrived  at,  equilibrium  will 
be  restored.  Otherwise  social  revolution  lies  at  the  end  of 
the  road. 

But  Beauchene,  in  his  triumphant  manner,  tried  to  show 
that  he  possessed  great  breadth  of  mind ;  he  admitted  the 
disquieting  strides  of  a  decrease  of  population,  and  denounced 
the  causes  of  it  —  alcoholism,  militarism,  excessive  mortal- 
ity among  infants,  and  other  numerous  matters.  Then  he 
indicated  remedies ;  first,  reductions  in  taxation,  fiscal 
means  in  which  he  had  little  faith  ;  then  freedom  to  will 
one's  estate  as  one  pleased,  which  seemed  to  him  more  effi- 
cacious ;  a  change,  too,  in  the  marriage  laws,  without  for- 
getting the  granting  of  affiliation  rights. 

However,  Boutan  ended  by  interrupting  him.  "  All  the 
legislative  measures  in  the  world  will  do  nothing,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  Manners  and  customs,  our  notions  of  what  is 
moral  and  what  is  not,  our  very  conceptions  of  the  beautiful 
in  life  —  all  must  be  changed.  If  France  is  becoming 
depopulated,  it  is  because  she  so  chooses.  It  is  simply 
necessary  then  for  her  to  choose  so  no  longer.  But  what 
a  task  —  a  whole  world  to  create  anew  !  " 

At  this  Mathieu  raised  a  superb  cry  :  "  Well !  we'll 
create  it.  I've  begun  well  enough,  surely  !  " 

But  Constance,  after  laughing  in  a  constrained  way,  in 
her  turn  thought  it  as  well  to  change  the  subject.  And 
so  she  at  last  replied  to  his  invitation,  saying  that  she  would 
do  her  best  to  go  to  Janville,  though  she  feared  she  might 
not  be  able  to  dispose  of  a  Sunday  to  do  so. 

Dr.  Boutan  then  took  his  leave,  and  was  escorted  to  the 
door  by  Beauchene,  who  still  went  on  jesting,  like  a  man 
well  pleased  with  life,  one  who  was  satisfied  with  himself 
and  others,  and  who  felt  certain  of  being  able  to  arrange 
things  as  might  best  suit  his  pleasure  and  his  interests. 

An  hour  later,  a  few  minutes  after  midday,  as  Mathieu, 


10  FRUITFULNESS 

who  had  been  delayed  in  the  works,  went  up  to  the  offices 
to  fetch  Morange  as  he  had  promised  to  do,  it  occurred  to 
him  to  take  a  short  cut  through  the  women's  workshop. 
And  there,  in  that  spacious  gallery,  already  deserted  and 
silent,  he  came  upon  an  unexpected  scene  which  utterly 
amazed  him.  On  some  pretext  or  other  Norine  had 
lingered  there  the  last,  and  Beauchene  was  with  her,  clasp- 
ing her  around  the  waist  whilst  he  eagerly  pressed  his  lips 
to  hers.  But  all  at  once  they  caught  sight  of  Mathieu  and 
remained  thunderstruck.  And  he,  for  his  part,  fled  pre- 
cipitately, deeply  annoyed  at  having  been  a  surprised 
witness  to  such  a  secret. 


II 

MORANGE,  the  chief  accountant  at  Beauchene's  works, 
was  a  man  of  thirty-eight,  bald  and  already  gray-headed, 
but  with  a  superb  dark,  fan-shaped  beard,  of  which  he  was 
very  proud.  His  full  limpid  eyes,  straight  nose,  and  well- 
shaped  if  somewhat  large  mouth  had  in  his  younger  days 
given  him  the  reputation  of  being  a  handsome  fellow.  He 
still  took  great  care  of  himself,  invariably  wore  a  tall  silk 
hat,  and  preserved  the  correct  appearance  of  a  very  pains- 
taking and  well-bred  clerk. 

"  You  don't  know  our  new  flat  yet,  do  you  ?  "  he  asked 
Mathieu  as  he  led  him  away.  "  Oh  !  it's  perfect,  as  you 
will  see.  A  bedroom  for  us  and  another  for  Reine.  And 
it  is  so  close  to  the  works  too.  I  get  there  in  four  minutes, 
watch  in  hand." 

He,  Morange,  was  the  son  of  a  petty  commercial  clerk 
who  had  died  on  his  stool  after  forty  years  of  cloistral  office- 
life.  And  he  had  married  a  clerk's  daughter,  one  Valerie 
Duchemin,  the  eldest  of  four  girls  whose  parents'  home 
had  been  turned  into  a  perfect  hell,  full  of  shameful 
wretchedness  and  unacknowledgable  poverty,  through  this 
abominable  incumbrance.  Valerie,  who  was  good-looking 
and  ambitious,  was  lucky  enough,  however,  to  marry  that 
handsome,  honest,  and  hard-working  fellow,  Morange, 
although  she  was  quite  without  a  dowry;  and, this  accom- 
plished, she  indulged  in  the  dream  of  climbing  a  little 
higher  up  the  social  ladder,  and  freeing  herself  from  the 
loathsome  world  of  petty  clerkdom  by  making  the  son 
whom  she  hoped  to  have  either  an  advocate  or  a  doctor. 
Unfortunately  the  much-desired  child  proved  to  be  a  girl ; 
and  Valerie  trembled,  fearful  of  finding  herself  at  last  with 


22  FRUITFULNESS 

four  daughters  on  her  hands,  just  as  her  mother  had.  Her 
dream  thereupon  changed,  and  she  resolved  to  incite  her 
husband  onward  to  the  highest  posts,  so  that  she  might 
ultimately  give  her  daughter  a  large  dowry,  and  by  this 
means  gain  that  admittance  to  superior  spheres  which  she 
so  eagerly  desired.  Her  husband,  who  was  weak  and 
extremely  fond  of  her,  ended  by  sharing  her  ambition,  ever 
revolving  schemes  of  pride  and  conquest  for  her  benefit. 
But  he  had  now  been  eight  years  at  the  Beauchene  works, 
and  he  still  earned  but  five  thousand  francs  a  year.  This 
drove  him  and  his  wife  to  despair.  Assuredly  it  was  not 
at  Beauchene's  that  he  would  ever  make  his  fortune. 

"  You  see  !  "  he  exclaimed,  after  going  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred yards  with  Mathieu  along  the  Boulevard  de  Crenelle, 
"  it  is  that  new  house  yonder  at  the  street  corner.  It  has 
a  stylish  appearance,  eh  ?  " 

Mathieu  then  perceived  a  lofty  modern  pile,  ornamented 
with  balconies  and  sculpture  work,  which  looked  quite  out 
of  place  among  the  poor  little  houses  predominating  in  the 
district. 

u  Why,  it  is  a  palace  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  order  to  please 
Morange,  who  thereupon  drew  himself  up  quite  proudly. 

"  You  will  see  the  staircase,  my  dear  fellow !  Our 
place,  you  know,  is  on  the  fifth  floor.  But  that  is  of  no 
consequence  with  such  a  staircase,  so  easy,  so  soft,  that 
one  climbs  it  almost  without  knowing." 

Thereupon  Morange  showed  his  guest  into  the  vestibule 
as  if  he  were  ushering  him  into  a  temple.  The  stucco 
walls  gleamed  brightly  j  there  was  a  carpet  on  the  stairs, 
and  colored  glass  in  the  windows.  And  when,  on  reaching 
the  fifth  story,  the  cashier  opened  the  door  with  his  latch- 
key, he  repeated,  with  an  air  of  delight :  "  You  will  see, 
you  will  see  !  " 

Valerie  and  Reine  must  have  been  on  the  watch,  for 
they  hastened  forward.  At  thirty-two  Valerie  was  still 
young  and  charming.  She  was  a  pleasant-looking  brunette, 
with  a  round  smiling  face  in  a  setting  of  superb  hair.  She 
had  a  full,  round  bust,  and  admirable  shoulders,  of  which 


FRUITFULNESS  23 

her  husband  felt  quite  proud  whenever  she  showed  herself 
in  a  low-necked  dress.  Reine,  at  this  time  twelve  years 
old,  was  the  very  portrait  of  her  mother,  showing  much  the 
same  smiling,  if  rather  longer,  face  under  similar  black 
tresses. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  accept  our  invitation," 
said  Valerie  gayly  as  she  pressed  both  Mathieu's  hands. 
"  What  a  pity  that  Madame  Froment  could  not  come  with 
you  !  Reine,  why  don't  you  relieve  the  gentleman  of  his 
hat  ?  " 

Then  she  immediately  continued :  "  We  have  a  nice 
light  anteroom,  you  see.  Would  you  like  to  glance  over  our 
flat  while  the  eggs  are  being  boiled  ?  That  will  always  be 
one  thing  done,  and  you  will  then  at  least  know  where  you 
are  lunching." 

All  this  was  said  in  such  an  agreeable  way,  and  Morange 
on  his  side  smiled  so  good-naturedly,  that  Mathieu  willingly 
lent  himself  to  this  innocent  display  of  vanity.  First  came 
the  parlor,  the  corner  room,  the  walls  of  which  were  cov- 
ered with  pearl-gray  paper  with  a  design  of  golden  flowers, 
while  the  furniture  consisted  of  some  of  those  white  lac- 
quered Louis  XVI.  pieces  which  makers  turn  out  by  the 
gross.  The  rosewood  piano  showed  like  a  big  black  blot 
amidst  all  the  rest.  Then,  overlooking  the  Boulevard  de 
Crenelle,  came  Reine's  bedroom,  pale  blue,  with  furniture 
of  polished  pine.  Her  parents'  room,  a  very  small  apart- 
ment, was  at  the  other  end  of  the  flat,  separated  from  the 
parlor  by  the  dining-room.  The  hangings  adorning  it  were 
yellow  ;  and  a  bedstead,  a  washstand,  and  a  wardrobe,  all 
of  thuya,  had  been  crowded  into  it.  Finally  the  classic 
"  old  carved  oak  "  triumphed  in  the  dining-room,  where  a 
heavily  gilded  hanging  lamp  flashed  like  fire  above  the  table, 
dazzling  in  its  whiteness. 

"  Why,  it's  delightful,"  Mathieu  repeated,  by  way  of 
politeness;  "why,  it's  a  real  gem  of  a  place." 

In  their  excitement,  father,  mother,  and  daughter  never 
ceased  leading  him  hither  and  thither,  explaining  matters  to 
him  and  making  him  feel  the  things.  He  was  most  struck 


24  FRUITFULNESS 

by  the  circumstance  that  the  place  recalled  something  he 
had  seen  before  ;  he  seemed  to  be  familiar  with  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  drawing-room,  and  with  the  way  in  which  the 
nicknacks  in  the  bedchamber  were  set  out.  And  all  at 
once  he  remembered.  Influenced  by  envy  and  covert  ad- 
miration, the  Moranges,  despite  themselves,  no  doubt,  had 
tried  to  copy  the  Beauchenes.  Always  short  of  money  as 
they  were,  they  could  only  and  by  dint  of  great  sacrifices 
indulge  in  a  species  of  make-believe  luxury.  Nevertheless 
they  were  proud  of  it,  and,  by  imitating  the  envied  higher 
class  from  afar,  they  imagined  that  they  drew  nearer  to  it. 

"  And  then,"  Morange  exclaimed,  as  he  opened  the  din- 
ing-room window,  "  there  is  also  this." 

Outside,  a  balcony  ran  along  the  house-front,  and  at  that 
height  the  view  was  really  a  very  fine  one,  similar  to  that 
obtained  from  the  Beauchene  mansion  but  more  extensive, 
the  Seine  showing  in  the  distance,  and  the  heights  of  Passy 
rising  above  the  nearer  and  lower  house-roofs. 

Valerie  also  called  attention  to  the  prospect.  "  It  is 
magnificent,  is  it  not  ? "  said  she  ;  "  far  better  than  the  few 
trees  that  one  can  see  from  the  quay." 

The  servant  was  now  bringing  the  boiled  eggs  and  they 
took  their  seats  at  table,  while  Morange  victoriously  ex- 
plained that  the  place  altogether  cost  him  sixteen  hundred 
francs  a  year.  It  was  cheap  indeed,  though  the  amount 
was  a  heavy  charge  on  Morange's  slender  income.  Mathieu 
now  began  to  understand  that  he  had  been  invited  more 
particularly  to  admire  the  new  flat,  and  these  worthy  peo- 
ple seemed  so  delighted  to  triumph  over  it  before  him  that 
he  took  the  matter  gayly  and  without  thought  of  spite. 
There  was  no  calculating  ambition  in  his  nature ;  he  en- 
vied nothing  of  the  luxury  he  brushed  against  in  other  peo- 
ple's homes,  and  he  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  snug  modest 
life  he  led  with  Marianne  and  his  children.  Thus  he  sim- 
ply felt  surprised  at  finding  the  Moranges  so  desirous  of 
cutting  a  figure  and  making  money,  and  looked  at  them 
with  a  somewhat  sad  smile. 

Valerie  was  wearing  a  pretty  gown  of  foulard  with  a  pat- 


FRUITFULNESS  25 

tern  of  little  yellow  flowers,  while  her  daughter,  Reine, 
whom  she  liked  to  deck  out  coquettishly,  had  a  frock  of 
blue  linen  stuff.  There  was  rather  too  much  luxury  about 
the  meal  also.  Soles  followed  the  eggs,  and  then  came 
cutlets,  and  afterwards  asparagus. 

The  conversation  began  with  some  mention  of  Janville. 

"  And  so  your  children  are  in  good  health  ?  Oh  !  they 
are  very  fine  children  indeed.  And  you  really  like  the 
country  ?  How  funny  !  I  think  I  should  feel  dreadfully 
bored  there,  for  there  is  too  great  a  lack  of  amusements. 
Why,  yes,  we  shall  be  delighted  to  go  to  see  you  there, 
since  Madame  Froment  is  kind  enough  to  invite  us." 

Then,  as  was  bound  to  happen,  the  talk  turned  on  the 
Beauchenes.  This  was  a  subject  which  haunted  the  Mo- 
ranges,  who  lived  in  perpetual  admiration  of  the  Beau- 
chenes, though  at  times  they  covertly  criticised  them.  Valerie 
was  very  proud  of  being  privileged  to  attend  Constance's 
Saturday  "  at-homes,"  and  of  having  been  twice  invited  to 
dinner  by  her  during  the  previous  winter.  She  on  her  side 
now  had  a  day  of  her  own,  Tuesday,  and  she  even  gave 
little  private  parties,  and  half  ruined  herself  in  providing 
refreshments  at  them.  As  for  her  acquaintances,  she  spoke 
with  profound  respect  of  Mme.  Seguin  du  Hordel  and  that 
lady's  magnificent  mansion  in  the  Avenue  d'Antin,  for 
Constance  had  obligingly  obtained  her  an  invitation  to  a 
ball  there.  But  she  was  particularly  vain  of  the  friendship 
of  Beauchene's  sister,  Seraphine,  whom  she  invariably  called 
"  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Lowicz." 

"  The  Baroness  came  to  my  at-home  one  afternoon,"  she 
said.  "  She  is  so  very  good-natured  and  so  gay  !  You 
knew  her  formerly,  did  you  not  ?  After  her  marriage, 
eh  ?  when  she  became  reconciled  to  her  brother  and  their 
wretched  disputes  about  money  matters  were  over.  By  the 
way,  she  has  no  great  liking  for  Madame  Beauchene,  as 
you  must  know." 

Then  she  again  reverted  to  the  manufacturer's  wife, 
declared  that  little  Maurice,  however  sturdy  he  might  look, 
was  simply  puffed  out  with  bad  flesh;  and  she  remarked 


26  FRUITFULNESS 

that  it  would  be  a  terrible  blow  for  the  parents  if  they 
should  lose  that  only  son.  The  subject  of  children  was 
thus  started,  and  when  Mathieu,  laughing,  observed  that 
they,  the  Moranges,  had  but  one  child,  the  cashier  protested 
that  it  was  unfair  to  compare  him  with  M.  Beauchene,  who 
was  such  a  wealthy  man.  Valerie,  for  her  part,  pictured 
the  position  of  her  parents,  afflicted  with  four  daughters, 
who  had  been  obliged  to  wait  months  and  months  for  boots 
and  frocks  and  hats,  and  had  grown  up  anyhow,  in  perpet- 
ual terror  lest  they  should  never  find  husbands.  A  family 
was  all  very  well,  but  when  it  happened  to  consist  of 
daughters  the  situation  became  terrible  for  people  of  limited 
means ;  for  if  daughters  were  to  be  launched  properly  into 
life  they  must  have  dowries. 

"  Besides,"  said  she,  "  I  am  very  ambitious  for  my  hus- 
band, and  I  am  convinced  that  he  may  rise  to  a  very  high 
position  if  he  will  only  listen  to  me.  But  he  must  not  be 
saddled  with  a  lot  of  incumbrances.  As  things  stand,  I 
trust  that  we  may  be  able  to  get  rich  and  give  Reine  a 
suitable  dowry." 

Morange,  quite  moved  by  this  little  speech,  caught  hold 
of  his  wife's  hand  and  kissed  it.  Weak  and  good-natured 
as  he  was,  Valerie  was  really  the  one  with  will.  It  was 
she  who  had  instilled  some  ambition  into  him,  and  he 
esteemed  her  the  more  for  it. 

"  My  wife  is  a  thoroughly  good  woman,  you  know,  my 
dear  Froment,"  said  he.  "  She  has  a  good  head  as  well  as 
a  good  heart." 

Then,  while  Valerie  recapitulated  her  dream  of  wealth, 
the  splendid  flat  she  would  have,  the  receptions  she  would 
hold,  and  the  two  months  which,  like  the  Beauchenes,  she 
would  spend  at  the  seaside  every  summer,  Mathieu  looked 
at  her  and  her  husband  and  pondered  their  position.  Their 
case  was  very  different  from  that  of  old  Moineaud,  who 
knew  that  he  would  never  be  a  cabinet  minister.  Morange 
possibly  dreamt  that  his  wife  would  indeed  make  him  a 
minister  some  day.  Every  petty  bourgeois  in  a  democratic 
community  has  a  chance  of  rising  and  wishes  to  do  so. 


FRUITFULNESS  27 

Indeed,  there  is  a  universal,  ferocious  rush,  each  seeking 
to  push  the  others  aside  so  that  he  may  the  more  speedily 
climb  a  rung  of  the  social  ladder.  This  general  ascent, 
this  phenomenon  akin  to  capillarity,  is  possible  only  in  a 
country  where  political  equality  and  economic  inequality 
prevail ;  for  each  has  the  same  right  to  fortune  and  has  but 
to  conquer  it.  There  is,  however,  a  struggle  of  the  vilest 
egotism,  if  one  wishes  to  taste  the  pleasures  of  the  highly 
placed,  pleasures  which  are  displayed  to  the  gaze  of  all  and 
are  eagerly  coveted  by  nearly  everybody  in  the  lower 
spheres.  Under  a  democratic  constitution  a  nation  cannot 
live  happily  if  its  manners  and  customs  are  not  simple,  and 
if  the  conditions  of  life  are  not  virtually  equal  for  one  and 
all.  Under  other  circumstances  than  these  the  liberal  pro- 
fessions prove  all-devouring :  there  is  a  rush  for  public 
functions  ;  manual  toil  is  regarded  with  contempt ;  luxury 
increases  and  becomes  necessary ;  and  wealth  and  power 
are  furiously  appropriated  by  assault  in  order  that  one  may 
greedily  taste  the  voluptuousness  of  enjoyment.  And  in 
such  a  state  of  affairs,  children,  as  Valerie  put  it,  were 
incumbrances,  whereas  one  needed  to  be  free,  absolutely 
unburdened,  if  one  wished  to  climb  over  all  one's  competi- 
tors. 

Mathieu  also  thought  of  that  law  of  imitation  which 
impels  even  the  least  fortunate  to  impoverish  themselves  by 
striving  to  copy  the  happy  ones  of  the  world.  How  great 
the  distress  which  really  lurks  beneath  that  envied  luxury 
that  is  copied  at  such  great  cost !  All  sorts  of  useless 
needs  are  created,  and  production  is  turned  aside  from  the 
strictly  necessary.  One  can  no  longer  express  hardship  by 
saying  that  people  lack  bread ;  what  they  lack  in  the 
majority  of  cases  is  the  superfluous,  which  they  are  unable 
to  renounce  without  imagining  that  they  have  gone  to  the 
dogs  and  are  in  danger  of  starvation. 

At  dessert,  when  the  servant  was  no  longer  present, 
Morange,  excited  by  his  good  meal,  became  expansive. 
Glancing  at  his  wife  he  winked  towards  their  guest,  say- 
ing: 


28  FRUITFULNESS 

"  Come,  he's  a  safe  friend  ;  one  may  tell  him  every- 
thing." 

And  when  Valerie  had  consented  with  a  smile  and  a  nod, 
he  went  on :  "  Well,  this  is  the  matter,  my  dear  fellow  : 
it  is  possible  that  I  may  soon  leave  the  works.  Oh  !  it's 
not  decided,  but  I'm  thinking  of  it.  Yes,  I've  been  think- 
ing of  it  for  some  months  past ;  for,  when  all  is  said,  to 
earn  five  thousand  francs  a  year,  after  eight  years'  zeal, 
and  to  think  that  one  will  never  earn  much  more,  is 
enough  to  make  one  despair  of  life." 

"  It's  monstrous,"  the  young  woman  interrupted  :  "  it  is 
like  breaking  one's  head  intentionally  against  a  wall." 

"  Well,  in  such  circumstances,  my  dear  friend,  the  best 
course  is  to  look  out  for  something  elsewhere,  is  it  not  ? 
Do  you  remember  Michaud,  whom  I  had  under  my  orders 
at  the  works  some  six  years  ago  ?  A  very  intelligent  fel- 
low he  was.  Well,  scarcely  six  years  have  elapsed  since 
he  left  us  to  go  to  the  Credit  National,  and  what  do  you 
think  he  is  now  earning  there  ?  Twelve  thousand  francs  — 
you  hear  me  —  twelve  thousand  francs  !  " 

The  last  words  rang  out  like  a  trumpet-call.  The 
Moranges'  eyes  dilated  with  ecstasy.  Even  the  little  girl 
became  very  red. 

"  Last  March,"  continued  Morange,  "  I  happened  to 
meet  Michaud,  who  told  me  all  that,  and  showed  himself 
very  amiable.  He  offered  to  take  me  with  him  and  help 
me  on  in  my  turn.  Only  there's  some  risk  to  run.  He 
explained  to  me  that  I  must  at  first  accept  three  thousand 
six  hundred,  so  as  to  rise  gradually  to  a  very  big  figure. 
But  three  thousand  six  hundred !  How  can  one  live  on 
that  in  the  meantime,  especially  now  that  this  flat  has 
increased  our  expenses  ?  " 

At  this  Valerie  broke  in  impetuously  :  " c  Nothing  ven- 
ture, nothing  have  ! '  That's  what  I  keep  on  repeating  to 
him.  Of  course  I  am  in  favor  of  prudence ;  I  would 
never  let  him  do  anything  rash  which  might  compromise 
his  future.  But,  at  the  same  time,  he  can't  moulder  away 
in  a  situation  unworthy  of  him." 


FRUITFULNESS  29 

"  And  so  you  have  made  up  your  minds  ? "  asked 
Mathieu. 

"  Well,  my  wife  has  calculated  everything,"  Morange 
replied  ;  "  and,  yes,  we  have  made  up  our  minds,  provided, 
of  course,  that  nothing  unforeseen  occurs.  Besides,  it  is 
only  in  October  that  any  situation  will  be  open  at  the 
Credit  National.  But,  I  say,  my  dear  friend,  keep  the 
matter  entirely  to  yourself,  for  we  don't  want  to  quarrel 
with  the  Beauchenes  just  now." 

Then  he  looked  at  his  watch,  for,  like  a  good  clerk,  he 
was  very  punctual,  and  did  not  wish  to  be  late  at  the  office. 
The  servant  was  hurried,  the  coffee  was  served,  and  they 
were  drinking  it,  boiling  hot  as  it  was,  when  the  arrival  of 
a  visitor  upset  the  little  household  and  caused  everything  to 
be  forgotten. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Valerie,  as  she  hastily  rose,  flushed 
with  pride,  "  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Lowicz  !  " 

Seraphine,  at  this  time  nine-and-twenty,  was  red-haired,  tall 
and  elegant,  with  magnificent  shoulders  which  were  known 
to  all  Paris.  Her  red  lips  were  wreathed  in  a  triumphant 
smile,  and  a  voluptuous  flame  ever  shone  in  her  large  brown 
eyes  flecked  with  gold. 

"  Pray  don't  disturb  yourselves,  my  friends,"  said  she. 
u  Your  servant  wanted  to  show  me  into  the  drawing-room, 
but  I  insisted  on  coming  in  here,  because  it  is  rather  a  press- 
ing matter.  I  have  come  to  fetch  your  charming  little 
Reine  to  take  her  to  a  matinee  at  the  Circus." 

A  fresh  explosion  of  delight  ensued.  The  child  remained 
speechless  with  joy,  whilst  the  mother  exulted  and  rattled 
on  :  "  Oh  !  Madame  la  Baronne,  you  are  really  too  kind  ! 
You  are  spoiling  the  child.  But  the  fact  is  that  she  isn't 
dressed,  and  you  will  have  to  wait  a  moment.  Come,  child, 
make  haste,  I  will  help  you — ten  minutes,  you  under- 
stand —  I  won't  keep  you  waiting  a  moment  longer." 

Seraphine  remained  alone  with  the  two  men.  She  had 
made  a  gesture  of  surprise  on  perceiving  Mathieu,  whose 
hand,  like  an  old  friend,  she  now  shook. 

"  And  you,  are  you  quite  well  ?  "  she  asked. 


30  FRUITFULNESS 

"  Quite  well,"  he  answered  ;  and  as  she  sat  down  near 
him  he  instinctively  pushed  his  chair  back.  He  did  not 
seem  at  all  pleased  at  having  met  her. 

He  had  been  on  familiar  terms  with  her  during  his  earlier 
days  at  the  Beauchene  works.  She  was  a  frantic  pleasure- 
lover,  and  destitute  of  both  conscience  and  moral  principles. 
Her  conduct  had  given  rise  to  scandal  even  before  her 
extraordinary  elopement  with  Baron  de  Lowicz,  that  needy 
adventurer  with  a  face  like  an  archangel's  and  the  soul  of 
a  swindler.  The  result  of  the  union  was  a  stillborn  child. 
Then  Seraphine,  who  was  extremely  egotistical  and  avari- 
cious, quarrelled  with  her  husband  and  drove  him  away. 
He  repaired  to  Berlin,  and  was  killed  there  in  a  brawl  at  a 
gambling  den.  Delighted  at  being  rid  of  him,  Seraphine 
made  every  use  of  her  liberty  as  a  young  widow.  She  fig- 
ured at  every  fete,  took  part  in  every  kind  of  amusement, 
and  many  scandalous  stories  were  told  of  her ;  but  she  con- 
trived to  keep  up  appearances  and  was  thus  still  received 
everywhere. 

"  You  are  living  in  the  country,  are  you  not  ? "  she 
asked  again,  turning  towards  Mathieu. 

"  Yes,  we  have  been  there  for  three  weeks  past." 

"  Constance  told  me  of  it.  I  met  her  the  other  day  at 
Madame  Seguin's.  We  are  on  the  best  terms  possible,  you 
know,  now  that  I  give  my  brother  good  advice." 

In  point  of  fact  her  sister-in-law,  Constance,  hated  her, 
but  with  her  usual  boldness  she  treated  the  matter  as  a  joke. 

"We  talked  about  Dr.  Gaude,"  she  resumed;  "I  fan- 
cied that  she  wanted  to  ask  for  his  address  ;  but  she  did  not 
dare." 

"  Dr.  Gaude  !  "  interrupted  Morange.  "  Ah  !  yes,  a 
friend  of  my  wife's  spoke  to  her  about  him.  He's  a  won- 
derfully clever  man,  it  appears.  Some  of  his  operations  are 
like  miracles." 

Then  he  went  on  talking  of  Dr.  Gaude's  clinic  at  the 
Hopital  Marbeuf,  a  clinic  whither  society  folks  hastened  to 
see  operations  performed,  just  as  they  might  go  to  a  theatre. 
The  doctor,  who  was  fond  of  money,  and  who  bled  his 


FRUITFULNESS  31 

wealthy  lady  patients  in  more  senses  than  one,  was  likewise 
partial  to  glory  and  proud  of  accomplishing  the  most  dan- 
gerous experiments  on  the  unhappy  creatures  who  fell  into 
his  hands.  The  newspapers  were  always  talking  about 
him,  his  cures  were  constantly  puffed  and  advertised  by  way 
of  inducing  fine  ladies  to  trust  themselves  to  his  skill.  And 
he  certainly  accomplished  wonders,  cutting  and  carving  his 
patients  in  the  quietest,  most  unconcerned  way  possible, 
with  never  a  scruple,  never  a  doubt  as  to  whether  what  he 
did  was  strictly  right  or  not. 

Seraphine  had  begun  to  laugh,  showing  her  white  wolfish 
teeth  between  her  blood-red  lips,  when  she  noticed  the  hor- 
rified expression  which  had  appeared  on  Mathieu's  face 
since  Gaude  had  been  spoken  of.  "  Ah !  "  said  she ; 
"  there's  a  man,  now,  who  in  nowise  resembles  your  squeam- 
ish Dr.  Boutan,  who  is  always  prattling  about  the  birth-rate. 
I  can't  understand  why  Constance  keeps  to  that  old-fash- 
ioned booby,  holding  the  views  she  does.  She  is  quite  right, 
you  know,  in  her  opinions.  I  fully  share  them." 

Morange  laughed  complaisantly.  He  wished  to  show 
her  that  his  opinions  were  the  same.  However,  as  Valerie 
did  not  return  with  Reine,  he  grew  impatient,  and  asked 
permission  to  go  and  see  what  they  were  about.  Perhaps 
he  himself  might  be  able  to  help  in  getting  the  child  ready. 

As  soon  as  Seraphine  was  alone  with  Mathieushe  turned 
her  big,  ardent,  gold-flecked  eyes  upon  him.  She  no  longer 
laughed  with  the  same  laugh  as  a  moment  previously  ;  an 
expression  of  voluptuous  irony  appeared  on  her  bold  bad 
face.  After  a  spell  of  silence  she  inquired,  "  And  is  my 
good  cousin  Marianne  quite  well  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,"  replied  Mathieu. 

"  And  the  children  are  still  growing  ?  " 

"  Yes,  still  growing." 

"  So  you  are  happy,  like  a  good  paterfamilias,  in  your 
little  nook  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  happy." 

Again  she  lapsed  into  silence,  but  she  did  not  cease  to 
look  at  him,  more  provoking,  more  radiant  than  ever,  with 


32  FRUITFULNESS 

the  charm  of  a  young  sorceress  whose  eyes  burn  and  poison 
men's  hearts.  And  at  last  she  slowly  resumed :  "  And  so 
it  is  all  over  between  us  ?  " 

He  made  a  gesture  in  token  of  assent.  There  had  long 
since  been  a  passing  fancy  between  them.  He  had  been 
nineteen  at  the  time,  and  she  two-and-twenty.  He  had 
then  but  just  entered  life,  and  she  was  already  married. 
But  a  few  months  later  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Mari- 
anne, and  had  then  entirely  freed  himself  from  her. 

"All  over  —  really?"  she  again  inquired,  smiling  but 
aggressive. 

She  was  looking  very  beautiful  and  bold,  seeking  to  tempt 
him  and  carry  him  off  from  that  silly  little  cousin  of  hers, 
whose  tears  would  simply  have  made  her  laugh.  And  as 
Mathieu  did  not  this  time  give  her  any  answer,  even  by  a 
wave  of  the  hand,  she  went  on  :  "I  prefer  that :  don't 
reply  :  don't  say  that  it  is  all  over.  You  might  make  a 
mistake,  you  know." 

For  a  moment  Mathieu's  eyes  flashed,  then  he  closed 
them  in  order  that  he  might  no  longer  see  Seraphine,  who 
was  leaning  towards  him.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  past  were 
coming  back.  She  almost  pressed  her  lips  to  his  as  she 
whispered  that  she  still  loved  him  ;  and  when  he  drew  back, 
full  of  mingled  emotion  and  annoyance,  she  raised  her  little 
hand  to  his  mouth  as  if  she  feared  that  he  was  again  going 
to  say  no. 

"Be  quiet,"  said  she;  "they  are  coming." 

The  Moranges  were  now  indeed  returning  with  Reine, 
whose  hair  had  been  curled.  The  child  looked  quite  deli- 
cious in  her  frock  of  rose  silk  decked  with  white  lace,  and 
her  large  hat  trimmed  with  some  of  the  dress  material. 
Her  gay  round  face  showed  with  flowery  delicacy  under 
the  rose  silk. 

"  Oh,  what  a  love !  "  exclaimed  Seraphine  by  way  of 
pleasing  the  parents.  "  Somebody  will  be  stealing  her  from 
me,  you  know." 

Then  it  occurred  to  her  to  kiss  the  child  in  passionate 
fashion,  feigning  the  emotion  of  a  woman  who  regrets  that 


FRUITFULNESS  33 

she  is  childless.  "  Yes ;  indeed  one  regrets  it  very  much 
when  one  sees  such  a  treasure  as  this  sweet  girl  of  yours. 
Ah  !  if  one  could  only  be  sure  that  God  would  give  one  such 
a  charming  child  —  well,  at  all  events,  I  shall  steal  her 
from  you ;  you  need  not  expect  me  to  bring  her  back 
again." 

The  enraptured  Moranges  laughed  delightedly.  And 
Mathieu,  who  knew  her  well,  listened  in  stupefaction. 
How  many  times  during  their  short  and  passionate  attach- 
ment had  she  not  inveighed  against  children  !  In  her 
estimation  maternity  poisoned  love,  aged  woman,  and  made 
a  horror  of  her  in  the  eyes  of  man. 

The  Moranges  accompanied  her  and  Reine  to  the  land- 
ing. And  they  could  not  find  words  warm  enough  to 
express  their  happiness  at  seeing  such  coveted  wealth  and 
luxury  come  to  seek  their  daughter.  When  the  door  of 
the  flat  was  closed  Valerie  darted  on  to  the  balcony,  ex- 
claiming, "  Let  us  see  them  drive  off." 

Morange,  who  no  longer  gave  a  thought  to  the  office, 
took  up  a  position  near  her,  and  called  Mathieu  and  compelled 
him  likewise  to  lean  over  and  look  down.  A  well-appointed 
victoria  was  waiting  below  with  a  superb-looking  coachman 
motionless  on  the  box-seat.  This  sight  put  a  finishing; 

O  -T  O 

touch  to  the  excitement  of  the  Moranges.  When  Seraphine 
had  installed  the  little  girl  beside  her,  they  laughed  aloud. 

"  How  pretty  she  looks  !      How  happy  she  must  feel !  " 

Reine  must  have  been  conscious  that  they  were  looking 
at  her,  for  she  raised  her  head,  smiled  and  bowed.  And 
Seraphine  did  the  same,  while  the  horse  broke  into  a  trot 
and  turned  the  corner  of  the  avenue.  Then  came  a  final 
explosion  — 

"  Look  at  her  !  "  repeated  Valerie ;  "  she  is  so  candid  ! 
At  twelve  years  old  she  is  still  as  innocent  as  a  child  in  her 
cradle.  You  know  that  I  trust  her  to  nobody.  Wouldn't 
one  think  her  a  little  duchess  who  has  always  had  a  carriage 
of  her  own  ?  " 

Then  Morange  reverted  to  his  dream  of  fortune.  "  Well," 
said  he,  "  I  hope  that  she  will  have  a  carriage  when  we 


34  FRUITFULNESS 

marry  her  off.     Just  let  me  get  into  the  Credit  National 
and  you  will  see  all  your  desires  fulfilled." 

And  turning  towards  Mathieu  he  added,  "  There  are 
three  of  us,  and,  as  I  have  said  before,  that  is  quite  enough 
for  a  man  to  provide  for,  especially  as  money  is  so  hard  to 
earn." 


Ill 


AT  the  works  during  the  afternoon  Mathieu,  who  wished 
to  be  free  earlier  than  usual  in  order  that,  before  dining  in 
town,  he  might  call  upon  his  landlord,  in  accordance  with 
his  promise  to  Marianne,  found  himself  so  busy  that  he 
scarcely  caught  sight  of  Beauchene.  This  was  a  relief,  for 
the  secret  which  he  had  discovered  by  chance  annoyed  him, 
and  he  feared  lest  he  might  cause  his  employer  embarrass- 
ment. But  the  latter,  when  they  exchanged  a  few  passing 
words,  did  not  seem  to  remember  even  that  there  was  any 
cause  for  shame  on  his  part.  He  had  never  before  shown 
himself  more  active,  more  devoted  to  business.  The  fatigue 
he  had  felt  in  the  morning  had  passed  away,  and  he  talked 
and  laughed  like  one  who  finds  life  very  pleasant,  and  has 
no  fear  whatever  of  hard  work. 

As  a  rule  Mathieu  left  at  six  o'clock ;  but  that  day  he 
went  into  Morange's  office  at  half-past  five  to  receive  his 
month's  salary.  This  rightly  amounted  to  three  hundred 
and  fifty  francs ;  but  as  five  hundred  had  been  advanced  to 
him  in  January,  which  he  paid  back  by  instalments  of  fifty, 
he  now  received  only  fifteen  louis,  and  these  he  pocketed 
with  such  an  air  of  satisfaction  that  the  accountant  com- 
mented on  it. 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  fellow,  "  the  money's  welcome, 
for  I  left  my  wife  with  just  thirty  sous  this  morning." 

It  was  already  more  than  six  o'clock  when  he  found 
himself  outside  the  superb  house  which  the  Seguin  du  Hor- 
del  family  occupied  in  the  Avenue  d'Antin.  Seguin's  grand- 
father had  been  a  mere  tiller  of  the  soil  at  Janville.  Later 
on,  his  father,  as  a  contractor  for  the  army,  had  made  a 
considerable  fortune.  And  he,  son  of  a  parvenu,  led  the 

35 


36  FRUITFULNESS 

life  of  a  rich,  elegant  idler.  He  was  a  member  of  the 
leading  clubs,  and,  while  passionately  fond  of  horses,  affected 
also  a  taste  for  art  and  literature,  going  for  fashion's  sake 
to  extreme  opinions.  He  had  proudly  married  an  almost 
portionless  girl  of  a  very  ancient  aristocratic  race,  the  last 
of  the  Vaugelades,  whose  blood  was  poor  and  whose  mind 
was  narrow.  Her  mother,  an  ardent  Catholic,  had  only 
succeeded  in  making  of  her  one  who,  while  following  relig- 
ious practices,  was  eager  for  the  joys  of  the  world.  Seguin, 
since  his  marriage,  had  likewise  practised  religion,  because 
it  was  fashionable  to  do  so.  His  peasant  grandfather  had 
had  ten  children ;  his  father,  the  army  contractor,  had  been 
content  with  six  ;  and  he  himself  had  two,  a  boy  and  a  girl, 
and  deemed  even  that  number  more  than  was  right. 

One  part  of  Seguin's  fortune  consisted  of  an  estate  of 
some  twelve  hundred  acres  —  woods  and  heaths — above 
Janville,  which  his  father  had  purchased  with  some  of  his 
large  gains  after  retiring  from  business.  The  old  man's 
long-caressed  dream  had  been  to  return  in  triumph  to  his 
native  village,  whence  he  had  started  quite  poor,  and  he 
was  on  the  point  of  there  building  himself  a  princely  resi- 
dence in  the  midst  of  a  vast  park  when  death  snatched  him 
away.  Almost  the  whole  of  this  estate  had  come  to  Seguin 
in  his  share  of  the  paternal  inheritance,  and  he  had  turned 
the  shooting  rights  to  some  account  by  dividing  them  into 
shares  of  five  hundred  francs  value,  which  his  friends  eagerly 
purchased.  The  income  derived  from  this  source  was, 
however,  but  a  meagre  one.  Apart  from  the  woods  there 
was  only  uncultivated  land  on  the  estate,  marshes,  patches 
of  sand,  and  fields  of  stones  ;  and  for  centuries  past  the 
opinion  of  the  district  had  been  that  no  agriculturist  could 
ever  turn  the  expanse  to  good  account.  The  defunct  army 
contractor  alone  had  been  able  to  picture  there  a  romantic 
park,  such  as  he  had  dreamt  of  creating  around  his  regal 
abode.  It  was  he,  by  the  way,  who  had  obtained  an  authori- 
zation to  add  to  the  name  of  Seguin  that  of  Du  Hordel  — 
taken  from  a  ruined  tower  called  the  Hordel  which  stood 
on  the  estate. 


FRUITFULNESS  37 

It  was  through  Beauchene,  one  of  the  shareholders  of 
the  shooting  rights,  that  Mathieu  had  made  Seguin's  acquaint- 
ance, and  had  discovered  the  old  hunting-box,  the  lonely, 
quiet  pavilion,  which  had  pleased  him  so  much  that  he  had 
rented  it.  Valentine,  who  good-naturedly  treated  Marianne 
as  a  poor  friend,  had  even  been  amiable  enough  to  visit  her 
there,  and  had  declared  the  situation  of  the  place  to  be  quite 
poetical,  laughing  the  while  over  her  previous  ignorance  of 
it  like  one  who  had  known  nothing  of  her  property.  In 
reality  she  herself  would  not  have  lived  there  for  an  hour. 
Her  husband  had  launched  her  into  the  feverish  life  of  lit- 
erary, artistic,  and  social  Paris,  hurrying  her  to  gatherings, 
studios,  exhibitions,  theatres,  and  other  pleasure  resorts  — 
all  those  brasier-like  places  where  weak  heads  and  wavering 
hearts  are  lost.  He  himself,  amid  all  his  passion  for  show, 
felt  bored  to  death  everywhere,  and  was  at  ease  only  among 
his  horses ;  and  this  despite  his  pretensions  with  respect  to 
advanced  literature  and  philosophy,  his  collections  of  curios, 
such  as  the  bourgeois  of  to-day  does  not  yet  understand,  his 
furniture,  his  pottery,  his  pewter-work,  and  particularly  his 
bookbindings,  of  which  he  was  very  proud.  And  he  was 
turning  his  wife  into  a  copy  of  himself,  perverting  her  by 
his  extravagant  opinions  and  his  promiscuous  friendships, 
so  that  the  little  devotee  who  had  been  confided  to  his  keep- 
ing was  now  on  the  high  road  to  every  kind  of  folly.  She 
still  went  to  mass  and  partook  of  the  holy  communion  ; 
but  she  was  each  day  growing  more  and  more  familiar  with 
wrong-doing.  A  disaster  must  surely  be  at  the  end  of  it 
all,  particularly  as  he  foolishly  behaved  to  her  in  a  rough, 
jeering  way,  which  greatly  hurt  her  feelings,  and  led  her  to 
dream  of  being  loved  with  gentleness. 

When  Mathieu  entered  the  house,  which  displayed  eight 
lofty  windows  on  each  of  the  stories  of  its  ornate  Renais- 
sance facade,  he  laughed  lightly  as  he  thought :  "  These 
folks  don't  have  to  wait  for  a  monthly  pittance  of  three 
hundred  francs,  with  just  thirty  sous  in  hand." 

The  hall  was  extremely  rich,  all  bronze  and  marble.  On 
the  right  hand  were  the  dining-room  and  two  drawing- 


j8  FRUITFULNESS 

rooms  ;  on  the  left  a  billiard-room,  a  smoking-room,  and  a 
winter  garden.  On  the  first  floor,  in  front  of  the  broad 
staircase,  was  Seguin's  so-called  "cabinet,"  a  vast  apartment, 
sixteen  feet  high,  forty  feet  long,  and  six-and-twenty  feet 
wide,  which  occupied  all  the  central  part  of  the  house ; 
while  the  husband's  bed  and  dressing  rooms  were  on  the 
right,  and  those  of  the  wife  and  children  on  the  left  hand. 
Up  above,  on  the  second  floor,  two  complete  suites  of 
rooms  were  kept  in  reserve  for  the  time  when  the  children 
should  have  grown  up. 

A  footman,  who  knew  Mathieu,  at  once  took  him  up- 
stairs to  the  cabinet  and  begged  him  to  wait  there,  while 
Monsieur  finished  dressing.  For  a  moment  the  visitor 
fancied  himself  alone  and  glanced  round  the  spacious  room, 
feeling  interested  in  its  adornments,  the  lofty  windows  of 
old  stained  glass,  the  hangings  of  old  Genoese  velvet  and 
brocaded  silk,  the  oak  bookcases  showing  the  highly  orna- 
mented backs  of  the  volumes  they  contained  ;  the  tables 
laden  with  bibelots,  bronzes,  marbles,  goldsmith's  work,  glass 
work,  and  the  famous  collection  of  modern  pewter-work. 
Then  Eastern  carpets  were  spread  out  upon  all  sides  ;  there 
were  low  seats  and  couches  for  every  mood  of  idleness,  and 
cosy  nooks  in  which  one  could  hide  oneself  behind  fringes 
of  lofty  plants. 

"  Oh  !  so  it's  you,  Monsieur  Froment,"  suddenly  ex- 
claimed somebody  in  the  direction  of  the  table  allotted  to 
the  pewter  curios.  And  thereupon  a  tall  young  man  of 
thirty,  whom  a  screen  had  hitherto  hidden  from  Mathieu's 
view,  came  forward  with  outstretched  hand. 

"Ah!"  said  Mathieu,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
"  Monsieur  Charles  Santerre." 

This  was  but  their  second  meeting.  They  had  found 
themselves  together  once  before  in  that  same  room.  Charles 
Santerre,  already  famous  as  a  novelist,  a  young  master  pop- 
ular in  Parisian  drawing-rooms,  had  a  fine  brow,  caressing 
brown  eyes,  and  a  large  red  mouth  which  his  moustache 
and  beard,  cut  in  the  Assyrian  style  and  carefully  curled, 
helped  to  conceal.  He  had  made  his  way,  thanks  to  women, 


FRUITFULNESS  39 

whose  society  he  sought  under  pretext  of  studying  'them, 
but  whom  he  was  resolved  to  use  as  instruments  of  fortune. 
As  a  matter  of  calculation  and  principle  he  had  remained  a 
bachelor  and  generally  installed  himself  in  the  nests  of 
others.  In  literature  feminine  frailty  was  his  stock  subject : 
he  had  made  it  his  specialty  to  depict  scenes  of  guilty  love 
amid  elegant,  refined  surroundings.  At  first  he  had  no 
illusions  as  to  the  literary  value  of  his  works ;  he  had 
simply  chosen,  in  a  deliberate  way,  what  he  deemed  to  be 
a  pleasant  and  lucrative  trade.  But,  duped  by  his  successes, 
he  had  allowed  pride  to  persuade  him  that  he  was  really  a 
writer.  And  nowadays  he  posed  as  the  painter  of  an  expir- 
ing society,  professing  the  greatest  pessimism,  and  basing  a 
new  religion  on  the  annihilation  of  human  passion,  which 
annihilation  would  insure  the  final  happiness  of  the  world. 

"  Seguin  will  be  here  in  a  moment,"  he  resumed  in  an 
amiable  way.  "  It  occurred  to  me  to  take  him  and  his  wife 
to  dine  at  a  restaurant  this  evening,  before  going  to  a  certain 
first  performance  where  there  will  probably  be  some  fisticuffs 
and  a  rumpus  to-night." 

Mathieu  then  for  the  first  time  noticed  that  Santerre  was 
in  evening  dress.  They  continued  chatting  for  a  moment, 
and  the  novelist  called  attention  to  a  new  pewter  treasure 
among  Seguin's  collection.  It  represented  a  long,  thin 
woman,  stretched  full-length,  with  her  hair  streaming  around 
her.  She  seemed  to  be  sobbing  as  she  lay  there,  and  San- 
terre declared  the  conception  to  be  a  masterpiece.  The 
figure  symbolized  the  end  of  woman,  reduced  to  despair 
and  solitude  when  man  should  finally  have  made  up  his 
mind  to  have  nothing  further  to  do  with  her.  It  was  the 
novelist  who,  in  literary  and  artistic  matters,  helped  on  the 
insanity  which  was  gradually  springing  up  in  the  Seguins' 
home. 

However,  Seguin  himself  now  made  his  appearance.  He 
was  of  the  same  age  as  Santerre,  but  was  taller  and 
slimmer,  with  fair  hair,  an  aquiline  nose,  gray  eyes,  and 
thin  lips  shaded  by  a  slight  moustache.  He  also  was  in 
evening  dress. 


40  FRUITFULNESS 

"  Ah  !  well,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  he  with  the  slight  lisp 
which  he  affected,  "  Valentine  is  determined  to  put  on  a 
new  gown.  So  we  must  be  patient ;  we  shall  have  an 
hour  to  wait." 

Then,  on  catching  sight  of  Mathieu,  he  began  to  apolo- 
gize, evincing  much  politeness  and  striving  to  accentuate 
his  air  of  frigid  distinction.  When  the  young  man,  whom 
he  called  his  amiable  tenant,  had  acquainted  him  with  the 
motive  of  his  visit  —  the  leak  in  the  zinc  roof  of  the  little 
pavilion  at  Janville  —  he  at  once  consented  to  let  the  local 
plumber  do  any  necessary  soldering.  But  when,  after  fresh 
explanations,  he  understood  that  the  roofing  was  so  worn 
and  damaged  that  it  required  to  be  changed  entirely,  he 
suddenly  departed  from  his  lofty  affability  and  began  to 
protest,  declaring  that  he  could  not  possibly  expend  in  such 
repairs  a  sum  which  would  exceed  the  whole  annual  rental 
of  six  hundred  francs. 

u  Some  soldering,"  he  repeated  ;  "  some  soldering  ;  it's 
understood.  I  will  write  to  the  plumber."  And  wishing 
to  change  the  subject  he  added  :  "  Oh  !  wait  a  moment, 
Monsieur  Froment.  You  are  a  man  of  taste,  I  know,  and 
I  want  to  show  you  a  marvel." 

He  really  had  some  esteem  for  Mathieu,  for  he  knew 
that  the  young  fellow  possessed  a  quick  appreciative  mind. 
Mathieu  began  to  smile,  outwardly  yielding  to  this  attempt 
to  create  a  diversion,  but  determined  at  heart  that  he  would 
not  leave  the  place  until  he  had  obtained  the  promise  of  a 
new  roof.  He  took  hold  of  a  book,  clad  in  a  marvellous 
binding,  which  Seguin  had  fetched  from  a  bookcase  and 
tendered  with  religious  care.  On  the  cover  of  soft  snow- 
white  leather  was  incrusted  a  long  silver  lily,  intersected  by 
a  tuft  of  big  violet  thistles.  The  title  of  the  work,  "  Beauty 
Imperishable,"  was  engraved  up  above,  as  in  a  corner  of 
the  sky. 

"  Ah  !  what  a  delightful  conception,  what  delightful  color- 
ing !  "  declared  Mathieu,  who  was  really  charmed.  "  Some 
bindings  nowadays  are  perfect  gems."  Then  he  noticed  the 
title  :  "  Why,  it's  Monsieur  Santerre's  last  novel !  "  said  he. 


FRUITFULNESS  41 

Seguin  smiled  and  glanced  at  the  writer,  who  had  drawn 
near.  And  when  he  saw  him  examining  the  book  and 
looking  quite  moved  by  the  compliment  paid  to  it,  he 
exclaimed  :  "  My  dear  fellow,  the  binder  brought  it  here 
this  morning,  and  I  was  awaiting  an  opportunity  to  sur- 
prise you  with  it.  It  is  the  pearl  of  my  collection  !  What 
do  you  think  of  the  idea  —  that  lily  which  symbolizes  tri- 
umphant purity,  and  those  thistles,  the  plants  which  spring  up 
among  ruins,  and  which  symbolize  the  sterility  of  the  world, 
at  last  deserted,  again  won  over  to  the  only  perfect  felicity  ? 
All  your  work  lies  in  those  symbols,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  yes.  But  you  spoil  me  ;  you  will  end  by  making 
me  proud." 

Mathieu  had  read  Santerre's  novel,  having  borrowed  a 
copy  of  it  from  Mme.  Beauchene,  in  order  that  his  wife 
might  see  it,  since  it  was  a  book  that  everybody  was  talk- 
ing of.  And  the  perusal  of  it  had  exasperated  him.  For- 
saking the  customary  bachelor's  flat  where  in  previous 
works  he  had  been  so  fond  of  laying  scenes  of  debauchery, 
Santerre  had  this  time  tried  to  rise  to  the  level  of  pure  art 
and  lyrical  symbolism.  The  story  he  told  was  one  of  a 
certain  Countess  Anne-Marie,  who,  to  escape  a  rough- 
mannered  husband  of  extreme  masculinity,  had  sought  a 
refuge  in  Brittany  in  the  company  of  a  young  painter 
endowed  with  divine  inspiration,  one  Norbert,  who  had 
undertaken  to  decorate  a  convent  chapel  with  paintings 
that  depicted  his  various  visions.  And  for  thirty  years  he 
went  on  painting  there,  ever  in  colloquy  with  the  angels, 
and  ever  having  Anne-Marie  beside  him.  And  during 
those  thirty  years  of  love  the  Countess's  beauty  remained 
unimpaired ;  she  was  as  young  and  as  fresh  at  the  finish  as 
at  the  outset;  whereas  certain  secondary  personages,  intro- 
duced into  the  story,  wives  and  mothers  of  a  neighboring 
little  town,  sank  into  physical  and  mental  decay,  and  mon- 
strous decrepitude.  Mathieu  considered  the  author's  theory 
that  all  physical  beauty  and  moral  nobility  belonged  to 
virgins  only,  to  be  thoroughly  imbecile,  and  he  could  not 
restrain  himself  from  hinting  his  disapproval  of  it. 


42  FRUITFULNESS 

Both  Santerre  and  Seguin,  however,  hotly  opposed  him, 
and  quite  a  discussion  ensued.  First  Santerre  took  up  the 
matter  from  a  religious  standpoint.  Said  he,  the  words  of 
the  Old  Testament,  "  Increase  and  multiply,"  were  not  to 
be  found  in  the  New  Testament,  which  was  the  true  basis 
of  the  Christian  religion.  The  first  Christians,  he  declared, 
had  held  marriage  in  horror,  and  with  them  the  Holy  Virgin 
had  become  the  ideal  of  womanhood.  Seguin  thereupon 
nodded  approval  and  proceeded  to  give  his  opinions  on 
feminine  beauty.  But  these  were  hardly  to  the  taste  of 
Mathieu,  who  promptly  pointed  out  that  the  conception  of 
beauty  had  often  varied. 

"  To-day,"  said  he,  "  you  conceive  beauty  to  consist  in 
a  long,  slim,  attenuated,  almost  angular  figure ;  but  at  the 
time  of  the  Renaissance  the  type  of  the  beautiful  was  very 
different.  Take  Rubens,  take  Titian,  take  even  Raffaelle, 
and  you  will  see  that  their  women  were  of  robust  build. 
Even  their  Virgin  Marys  have  a  motherly  air.  To  my 
thinking,  moreover,  if  we  reverted  to  some  such  natural 
type  of  beauty,  if  women  were  not  encouraged  by  fashion 
to  compress  and  attenuate  their  figures  so  that  their  very 
nature,  their  very  organism  is  changed,  there  would  perhaps 
be  some  hope  of  coping  with  the  evil  of  depopulation  which 
is  talked  about  so  much  nowadays." 

The  others  looked  at  him  and  smiled  with  an  air  of  com- 
passionate superiority.  "  Depopulation  an  evil !  "  exclaimed 
Seguin ;  "  can  you,  my  dear  sir,  intelligent  as  you  are,  still 
believe  in  that  hackneyed  old  story  ?  Come,  reflect  and 
reason  a  little." 

Then  Santerre  chimed  in,  and  they  went  on  talking  one 
after  the  other  and  at  times  both  together.  Schopenhauer 
and  Hartmann  and  Nietzsche  were  passed  in  review,  and 
they  claimed  Malthus  as  one  of  themselves.  But  all  this 
literary  pessimism  did  not  trouble  Mathieu.  He,  with  his 
belief  in  fruitfulness,  remained  convinced  that  the  nation 
which  no  longer  had  faith  in  life  must  be  dangerously  ill. 
True,  there  were  hours  when  he  doubted  the  expediency  of 
numerous  families  and  asked  himself  if  ten  thousand  happy 


FRUITFULNESS  43 

people  were  not  preferable  to  a  hundred  thousand  unhappy 
ones ;  in  which  connection  political  and  economic  condi- 
tions had  to  be  taken  into  account.  But  when  all  was 
said,  he  remained  almost  convinced  that  the  Malthusian 
hypotheses  would  prove  as  false  in  the  future  as  they  had 
proved  false  in  the  past. 

"  Moreover,"  said  he,  "  even  if  the  world  should  become 
densely  populated,  even  if  food  supplies,  such  as  we  know 
them,  should  fall  short,  chemistry  would  extract  other  means 
of  subsistence  from  inorganic  matter.  And,  besides,  all 
such  eventualities  are  so  far  away  that  it  is  impossible  to 
make  any  calculation  on  a  basis  of  scientific  certainty.  In 
France,  too,  instead  of  contributing  to  any  such  danger,  we 
are  going  backward,  we  are  marching  towards  annihilation. 
The  population  of  France  was  once  a  fourth  of  the  popu- 
lation of  Europe,  but  now  it  is  only  one-eighth.  In  a  cen- 
tury or  two  Paris  will  be  dead,  like  ancient  Athens  and 
ancient  Rome,  and  we  shall  have  fallen  to  the  rank  that 
Greece  now  occupies.  Paris  seems  determined  to  die." 

But  Santerre  protested  :  "  No,  no  ;  Paris  simply  wishes  to 
remain  stationary,  and  it  wishes  this  precisely  because  it  is 
the  most  intelligent,  most  highly  civilized  city  in  the  world. 
The  more  nations  advance  in  civilization  the  smaller  becomes 
their  birth-rate.  We  are  simply  giving  the  world  an  exam- 
ple of  high  culture,  superior  intelligence,  and  other  nations 
will  certainly  follow  that  example  when  in  turn  they  also 
attain  to  our  state  of  perfection.  There  are  signs  of  this 
already  on  every  side." 

"  Quite  so  !  "  exclaimed  Seguin,  backing  up  his  friend. 
"  The  phenomenon  is  general ;  all  the  nations  show  the 
same  symptoms,  and  are  decreasing  in  numbers,  or  will  de- 
crease as  soon  as  they  become  civilized.  Japan  is  affected 
already,  and  the  same  will  be  the  case  with  China  as  soon 
as  Europe  forces  open  the  door  there." 

Mathieu  had  become  grave  and  attentive  since  the  two 
society  men,  seated  before  him  in  evening  dress,  had  begun 
to  talk  more  rationally.  The  pale,  slim,  flat  virgin,  their 
ideal  of  feminine  beauty,  was  no  longer  in  question.  The 


44  FRUITFULNESS 

history  of  mankind  was  passing  by.  And  almost  as  if  com- 
muning with  himself,  he  said:  "So  you  do  not  fear  the 
Yellow  Peril,  that  terrible  swarming  of  Asiatic  barbarians 
who,  it  was  said,  would  at  some  fatal  moment  sweep  down 
on  our  Europe,  ravage  it,  and  people  it  afresh?  In  past 
ages,  history  always  began  anew  in  that  fashion,  by  the 
sudden  shifting  of  oceans,  the  invasion  of  fierce  rough  races 
coming  to  endow  weakened  nations  with  new  blood.  And 
after  each  such  occurrence  civilization  flowered  afresh,  more 
broadly  and  freely  than  ever.  How  was  it  that  Babylon, 
Nineveh,  and  Memphis  fell  into  dust  with  their  populations, 
who  seem  to  have  died  on  the  spot  ?  How  is  it  that  Athens 
and  Rome  still  agonize  to-day,  unable  to  spring  afresh  from 
their  ashes  and  renew  the  splendor  of  their  ancient  glory  ? 
How  is  it  that  death  has  already  laid  its  hand  upon  Paris, 
which,  whatever  her  splendor,  is  but  the  capital  of  a  France 
whose  virility  is  weakened  ?  You  may  argue  as  you  please 
and  say  that,  like  the  ancient  capitals  of  the  world,  Paris  is 
dying  of  an  excess  of  culture,  intelligence,  and  civilization  ; 
it  is  none  the  less  a  fact  that  she  is  approaching  death,  the 
turn  of  the  tide  which  will  carry  splendor  and  power  to  some 
new  nation.  Your  theory  of  equilibrium  is  wrong.  Nothing 
can  remain  stationary  ;  whatever  ceases  to  grow,  decreases 
and  disappears.  And  if  Paris  is  bent  on  dying,  she  will  die, 
and  the  country  with  her." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  declared  Santerre,  resuming  the 
pose  of  an  elegant  pessimist,  "if  she  wishes  to  die,  I  shan't 
oppose  her.  In  fact,  I'm  fully  determined  to  help  her." 

"  It  is  evident  that  the  really  honest,  sensible  course  is 
to  check  any  increase  of  population,"  added  Seguin. 

But  Mathieu,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  them,  went  on  :  "I 
know  Herbert  Spencer's  law,  and  I  believe  it  to  be  theo- 
retically correct.  It  is  certain  that  civilization  is  a  check 
to  fruitfulness,  so  that  one  may  picture  a  series  of  social 
evolutions  conducing  now  to  decrease  and  now  to  increase 
of  population,  the  whole  ending  in  final  equilibrium,  by 
the  very  effect  of  culture's  victory  when  the  world  shall  be 
entirely  populated  and  civilized.  But  who  can  foretell 


FRUITFULNESS  45 

what  road  will  be  followed,  through  what  disasters  and  suf- 
ferings one  may  have  to  go  ?  More  and  more  nations 
may  disappear,  and  others  may  replace  them ;  and  how 
many  thousands  of  years  may  not  be  needed  before  the 
final  adjustment,  compounded  of  truth,  justice,  and  peace, 
is  arrived  at?  At  the  thought  of  this  the  mind  trembles 
and  hesitates,  and  the  heart  contracts  with  a  pang." 

Deep  silence  fell  while  he  thus  remained  disturbed, 
shaken  in  his  faith  in  the  good  powers  of  life,  and  at  a  loss 
as  to  who  was  right  —  he  or  those  two  men  so  languidly 
stretched  out  before  him. 

But  Valentine,  Seguin's  wife,  came  in,  laughing  and 
making  an  exhibition  of  masculine  ways,  which  it  had  cost 
her  much  trouble  to  acquire. 

"  Ah  !  you  people ;  you  must  not  bear  me  any  malice, 
you  know.  That  girl  Celeste  takes  such  a  time  over 
everything ! " 

At  five-and-twenty  Valentine  was  short,  slight,  and  still 
girlish.  Fair,  with  a  delicate  face,  laughing  blue  eyes,  and 
a  pert  little  nose,  she  could  not  claim  to  be  pretty.  Still 
she  was  charming  and  droll,  and  very  free  and  easy  in  her 
ways  ;  for  not  only  did  her  husband  take  her  about  with 
him  to  all  sorts  of  objectionable  places,  but  she  had  become 
quite  familiar  with  the  artists  and  writers  who  frequented 
the  house.  Thus  it  was  only  in  the  presence  of  some- 
thing extremely  insulting  that  she  again  showed  herself  the 
last  of  the  Vaugelades,  and  would  all  at  once  draw  herself 
up  and  display  haughty  contempt  and  frigidity. 

"  Ah  !  it's  you,  Monsieur  Froment,"  she  said  amiably, 
stepping  towards  Mathieu  and  shaking  his  hand  in  cavalier 
fashion.  "Is  Madame  Froment  in  good  health?  Are  the 
children  flourishing  as  usual  ?  " 

Seguin  was  examining  her  dress,  a  gown  of  white  silk 
trimmed  with  unbleached  lace,  and  he  suddenly  gave  way 
to  one  of  those  horribly  rude  fits  which  burst  forth  at  times 
amid  all  his  great  affectation  of  politeness.  "  What !  have 
you  kept  us  waiting  all  this  time  to  put  that  rag  on  ? 
Well,  you  never  looked  a  greater  fright  in  your  life ! " 


46  FRUITFULNESS 

And  she  had  entered  the  room  convinced  that  she  looked 
charming  !  She  made  an  effort  to  control  herself,  but  her 
girlish  face  darkened  and  assumed  an  expression  of  haughty, 
.vindictive  revolt.  Then  she  slowly  turned  her  eyes  towards 
the  friend  who  was  present,  and  who  was  gazing  at  her 
with  ecstasy,  striving  to  accentuate  the  slavish  submissive- 
ness  of  his  attitude. 

"  You  look  delicious  !  "  he  murmured;  "that  gown  is  a 
marvel." 

Seguin  laughed  and  twitted  Santerre  on  his  obsequious- 
ness towards  women.  Valentine,  mollified  by  the  compli- 
ment, soon  recovered  her  birdlike  gayety,  and  such  free 
and  easy  conversation  ensued  between  the  trio  that  Mathieu 
felt  both  stupefied  and  embarrassed.  In  fact,  he  would  have 
gone  off  at  once  had  it  not  been  for  his  desire  to  obtain 
from  his  landlord  a  promise  to  repair  the  pavilion  properly. 

"  Wait  another  moment,"  Valentine  at  last  said  to  her 
husband ;  "  I  told  Celeste  to  bring  the  children,  so  that  we 
might  kiss  them  before  starting." 

Mathieu  wished  to  profit  by  this  fresh  delay,  and  sought 
to  renew  his  request  •,  but  Valentine  was  already  rattling 
on  again,  talking  of  dining  at  the  most  disreputable  restau- 
rant possible,  and  asking  if  at  the  first  performance  which 
they  were  to  attend  they  would  see  all  the  horrors  which 
had  been  hissed  at  the  dress  rehearsal  the  night  before. 
She  appeared  like  a  pupil  of  the  two  men  between  whom 
she  stood.  She  even  went  further  in  her  opinions  than 
they  did,  displaying  the  wildest  pessimism,  and  such  extreme 
views  on  literature  and  art  that  they  themselves  could  not 
forbear  laughing.  Wagner  was  greatly  over-estimated,  in 
her  opinion ;  she  asked  for  invertebrate  music,  the  free 
harmony  of  the  passing  wind.  As  for  her  moral  views, 
they  were  enough  to  make  one  shudder.  She  had  got  past 
the  argumentative  amours  of  Ibsen's  idiotic,  rebellious  hero- 
ines, and  had  now  reached  the  theory  of  pure  intangible 
beauty.  She  deemed  Santerre's  last  creation,  Anne-Marie, 
to  be  far  too  material  and  degraded,  because  in  one  deplor- 
able passage  the  author  remarked  that  Norbert's  kisses  had 


FRUITFULNESS  47 

left  their  trace  on  the  Countess's  brow.  Santerre  disputed 
the  quotation,  whereupon  she  rushed  upon  the  volume  and 
sought  the  page  to  which  she  had  referred. 

"  But  I  never  degraded  her,"  exclaimed  the  novelist  in 
despair.  "  She  never  has  a  child." 

"  Pooh  !  What  of  that  ?  "  exclaimed  Valentine.  "  If 
Anne-Marie  is  to  raise  our  hearts  she  ought  to  be  like  spot- 
less marble,  and  Norbert's  kisses  should  leave  no  mark  upon 
her." 

But  she  was  interrupted,  for  Celeste,  the  maid,  a  tall 
dark  girl  with  an.  equine  head,  big  features,  and  a  pleasant 
air,  now  came  in  with  the  two  children.  Gaston  was  at 
this  time  five  years  old,  and  Lucie  was  three.  Both  were 
slight  and  delicate,  pale  like  roses  blooming  in  the  shade. 
Like  their  mother,  they  were  fair.  The  lad's  hair  was 
inclined  to  be  carroty,  while  that  of  the  girl  suggested  the 
color  of  oats.  And  they  also  had  their  mother's  blue  eyes, 
but  their  faces  were  elongated  like  that  of  their  father. 
Dressed  in  white,  with  their  locks  curled,  arrayed  indeed 
in  the  most  coquettish  style,  they  looked  like  big  fragile 
dolls.  The  parents  were  touched  in  their  worldly  pride 
at  sight  of  them,  and  insisted  on  their  playing  their  parts 
with  due  propriety. 

u  Well,  don't  you  wish  anybody  good  evening  ?  " 

The  children  were  not  timid ;  they  were  already  used  to 
society  and  looked  visitors  full  in  the  face.  If  they  made 
little  haste,  it  was  because  they  were  naturally  indolent  and 
did  not  care  to  obey.  They  at  last  made  up  their  minds 
and  allowed  themselves  to  be  kissed. 

"  Good  evening,  good  friend  Santerre." 

Then  they  hesitated  before  Mathieu,  and  their  father 
had  to  remind  them  of  the  gentleman's  name,  though  they 
had  already  seen  him  on  two  or  three  occasions. 

"  Good  evening,  Monsieur  Froment." 

Valentine  took  hold  of  them,  sat  them  on  her  lap,  and 
half  stifled  them  with  caresses.  She  seemed  to  adore  them, 
but  as  soon  as  she  had  sat  them  down  again  she  forgot  all 
about  them. 


48  FRUITFULNESS 

"So  you  are  going  out  again,  mamma  ?  "  asked  the  little 
boy. 

"  Why,  yes,  my  darling.  Papas  and  mammas,  you 
know,  have  their  affairs  to  see  to." 

"  So  we  shall  have  dinner  all  alone,  mamma  ?  " 

Valentine  did  not  answer,  but  turned  towards  the  maid, 
who  was  waiting  for  orders  ;  — 

"  You  are  not  to  leave  them  for  a  moment,  Celeste  — 
you  hear  ?  And,  above  all  things,  they  are  not  to  go  into 
the  kitchen.  I  can  never  come  home  without  finding 
them  in  the  kitchen.  It  is  exasperating.  Let  them  have 
their  dinner  at  seven,  and  put  them  to  bed  at  nine.  And 
see  that  they  go  to  sleep." 

The  big  girl  with  the  equine  head  listened  with  an  air 
of  respectful  obedience,  while  her  faint  smile  expressed  the 
cunning  of  a  Norman  peasant  who  had  been  five  years  in 
Paris  already  and  was  hardened  to  service,  and  well  knew 
what  was  done  with  children  when  the  master  and  mistress 
were  absent. 

"  Madame,"  she  said  in  a  simple  way,  "  Mademoiselle 
Lucie  is  poorly.  She  has  been  sick  again." 

"  What  ?  sick  again  !  "  cried  the  father  in  a  fury.  "  I 
am  always  hearing  of  that !  They  are  always  being  sick  ! 
And  it  always  happens  when  we  are  going  out !  It  is  very 
disagreeable,  my  dear ;  you  might  see  to  it ;  you  ought  not 
to  let  our  children  have  papier-mache  stomachs  !  " 

The  mother  made  an  angry  gesture,  as  if  to  say  that  she 
could  not  help  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  children  were 
often  poorly.  They  had  experienced  every  childish  ailment, 
they  were  always  catching  cold  or  getting  feverish.  And 
they  preserved  the  mute,  moody,  and  somewhat  anxious 
demeanor  of  children  who  are  abandoned  to  the  care  of 
servants. 

u  Is  it  true  you  were  poorly,  my  little  Lucie  ?  "  asked 
Valentine,  stooping  down  to  the  child.  "  You  aren't  poorly 
now,  are  you  ?  No,  no,  it's  nothing,  nothing  at  all.  Kiss 
me,  my  pet ;  bid  papa  good  night  very  prettily,  so  that  he 
may  not  feel  worried  in  leaving  you." 


FRUITFULNESS  49 

She  rose  up,  already  tranquillized  and  gay  again ;  and, 
noticing  that  Mathieu  was  looking  at  her,  she  exclaimed  : 

"  Ah  !  these  little  folks  give  one  a  deal  of  worry.  But 
one  loves  them  dearly  all  the  same,  though,  so  far  as  there 
is  happiness  in  life,  it  would  perhaps  be  better  for  them 
never  to  have  been  born.  However,  my  duty  to  the 
country  is  done.  Each  wife  ought  to  have  a  boy  and  a 
girl  as  I  have." 

Thereupon  Mathieu,  seeing  that  she  was  jesting,  ventured 
to  say  with  a  laugh : 

"Well,  that  isn't  the  opinion  of  your  medical  man,  Dr. 
Boutan.  He  declares  that  to  make  the  country  prosperous 
every  married  couple  ought  to  have  four  children." 

"  Four  children  !  He's  mad  !  "  cried  Seguin.  And 
again  with  the  greatest  freedom  of  language  he  brought 
forward  his  pet  theories.  There  was  a  world  of  meaning 
in  his  wife's  laughter  while  Celeste  stood  there  unmoved 
and  the  children  listened  without  understanding.  But  at 
last  Santerre  led  the  Seguins  away.  It  was  only  in  the 
hall  that  Mathieu  obtained  from  his  landlord  a  promise  that 
he  would  write  to  the  plumber  at  Janville  and  that  the  roof 
of  the  pavilion  should  be  entirely  renovated,  since  the  rain 
came  into  the  bedrooms. 

The  Seguins'  landau  was  waiting  at  the  door.  When 
they  had  got  into  it  with  their  friend,  it  occurred  to  Mathieu 
to  raise  his  eyes ;  and  at  one  of  the  windows  he  perceived 
Celeste  standing  between  the  two  children,  intent,  no  doubt, 
on  assuring  herself  that  Monsieur  and  Madame  were  really 
going.  The  young  man  recalled  Reine's  departure  from 
her  parents ;  but  here  both  Lucie  and  Gaston  remained 
motionless,  gravely  mournful,  and  neither  their  father  nor 
their  mother  once  thought  of  looking  up  at  them. 


IV 

AT  half-past  seven  o'clock,  when  Mathieu  arrived  at  the 
restaurant  on  the  Place  de  la  Madeleine  where  he  was  to 
meet  his  employer,  he  found  him  already  there,  drinking 
a  glass  of  madeira  with  his  customer,  M.  Firon-Badinier. 
The  dinner  was  a  remarkable  one ;  choice  viands  and  the  best 
wines  were  served  in  abundance.  But  Mathieu  was  struck 
less  by  the  appetite  which  the  others  displayed  than  by 
Beauchene' s  activity  and  skill.  Glass  in  hand,  never  losing 
a  bite,  he  had  already  persuaded  his  customer,  by  the  time 
the  roast  arrived,  to  order  not  only  the  new  thresher  but 
also  a  mowing  machine.  M.  Firon-Badinier  was  to  take 
the  train  for  Evreux  at  nine-twenty,  and  when  nine  o'clock 
struck,  the  other,  now  eager  to  be  rid  of  him,  contrived  to 
pack  him  off  in  a  cab  to  the  St.-Lazare  railway  station. 

For  a  moment  Beauchene  remained  standing  on  the 
pavement  with  Mathieu,  and  took  off  his  hat  in  order  that 
the  mild  breezes  of  that  delightful  May  evening  might  cool 
his  burning  head. 

"  Well,  that's  settled,"  he  said  with  a  laugh.  "  But  it 
wasn't  so  easily  managed.  It  was  the  Pommard  which 
induced  the  beggar  to  make  up  his  mind.  All  the  same, 
I  was  dreadfully  afraid  he  would  make  me  miss  my 
appointment." 

These  remarks,  which  escaped  him  amid  his  semi-intoxi- 
cation, led  him  to  more  confidential  talk.  He  put  on  his 
hat  again,  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  and  took  Mathieu's  arm. 
Then  they  walked  on  slowly  through  the  passion-stirred 
throng  and  the  nightly  blaze  of  the  Boulevards. 

"  There's  plenty  of  time,"  said  Beauchene.  "  I'm  not 
expected  till  half-past  nine,  and  it's  close  by.  Will  you 
have  a  cigar  ?  No  ?  You  never  smoke  ?  " 


FRUITFULNESS  51 

"Never." 

"Well,  my  dear  fellow,  it  would  be  ridiculous  to  feign 
with  you,  since  you  happened  to  see  me  this  morning.  Oh, 
it's  a  stupid  affair  !  I'm  quite  of  that  opinion  ;  but,  then, 
what  would  you  have  ?  " 

Thereupon  he  launched  out  into  long  explanations  con- 
cerning his  marital  life  and  the  intrigue  which  had  suddenly 
sprung  up  between  him  and  that  girl  Norine,  old  Moineaud's 
daughter.  He  professed  the  greatest  respect  for  his  wife, 
but  he  was  nevertheless  a  loose  liver ;  and  Constance  was 
now  beginning  to  resign  herself  to  the  inevitable.  She 
closed  her  eyes  when  it  would  have  been  unpleasant  for  her 
to  keep  them  open.  She  knew  very  well  that  it  was  essen- 
tial that  the  business  should  be  kept  together  and  pass  intact 
into  the  hands  of  their  son  Maurice.  A  tribe  of  children 
would  have  meant  the  ruin  of  all  their  plans. 

Mathieu  listened  at  first  in  great  astonishment,  ana  then 
began  to  ask  questions  and  raise  objections,  at  most  of 
which  Beauchene  laughed  gayly,  like  the  gross  egotist  he 
was.  He  talked  at  length  with  extreme  volubility,  going 
into  all  sorts  of  details,  at  times  assuming  a  semi-apologetic 
manner,  but  more  frequently  justifying  himself  with  an  air 
of  triumph.  And,  finally,  when  they  reached  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  Caumartin  he  halted  to  bid  Mathieu  good-by. 
He  there  had  a  little  bachelor's  lodging,  which  was  kept  in 
order  by  the  concierge  of  the  house,  who,  being  very  well 
paid,  proved  an  extremely  discreet  domestic. 

As  he  hurried  off",  Mathieu,  still  standing  at  the  corner 
of  the  street,  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  scenes  which 
he  had  witnessed  at  the  Beauchene  works  that  day.  He 
thought  of  old  Moineaud,  the  fitter,  whom  he  again  saw 
standing  silent  and  unmoved  in  the  women's  workroom 
while  his  daughter  Euphrasie  was  being  soundly  rated  by 
Beauchene,  and  while  Norine,  the  other  girl,  looked  on 
with  a  sly  laugh.  When  the  toiler's  children  have  grown 
up  and  gone  to  join,  the  lads  the  army  of  slaughter,  and 
the  girls  the  army  of  vice,  the  father,  degraded  by  the  ills 
of  life,  pays  little  heed  to  it  all.  To  him  it  is  seemingly  a 


52  FRUITFULNESS 

matter  of  indifference  to  what  disaster  the  wind  may  carry 
the  fledgelings  who  fall  from  the  nest. 

It  was  now  half-past  nine  o'clock,  and  Mathieu  had 
more  than  an  hour  before  him  to  reach  the  Northern  rail- 
way station.  So  he  did  not  hurry,  but  strolled  very  leisurely 
up  the  Boulevards.  He  had  eaten  and  drunk  far  more  than 
usual,  and  Beauchene's  insidious  confidential  talk,  still  buzz- 
ing in  his  ears,  helped  on  his  intoxication.  His  hands  were 
hot,  and  now  and  again  a  sudden  glow  passed  over  his  face. 
And  what  a  warm  evening  it  was,  too,  on  those  Boulevards, 
blazing  with  electric  lights,  fevered  by  a  swarming,  jostling 
throng,  amid  a  ceaseless  rumble  of  cabs  and  omnibuses  ! 
It  was  all  like  a  stream  of  ardent  life  flowing  away  into  the 
night,  and  Mathieu  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  on  by  the 
torrent,  whose  hot  breath,  whose  glow  of  passion,  he  ever 
felt  sweeping  over  him. 

Then,  in  a  reverie,  he  pictured  the  day  he  had  just  spent. 
First  he  was  at  the  Beauchenes'  in  the  morning,  and  saw 
the  father  and  mother  standing,  like  accomplices  who  fully 
shared  one  another's  views,  beside  the  sofa  on  which  Mau- 
rice, their  only  son,  lay  dozing  with  a  pale  and  waxen  face. 
The  works  must  never  be  exposed  to  the  danger  of  being 
subdivided.  Maurice  alone  must  inherit  all  the  millions 
which  the  business  might  yield,  so  that  he  might  become 
one  of  the  princes  of  industry.  And  therefore  the  husband 
hurried  off  to  sin  while  the  wife  closed  her  eyes.  In  this 
sense,  in  defiance  of  morality  and  health,  did  the  capitalist 
bourgeoisie,  which  had  replaced  the  old  nobility,  virtually 
re-establish  the  law  of  primogeniture.  That  law  had  been 
abolished  at  the  Revolution  for  the  bourgeoisie's  benefit ;  but 
now,  also  for  its  own  purposes,  it  revived  it.  Each  family 
must  have  but  one  son. 

Mathieu  had  reached  this  stage  in  his  reflections  when 
his  thoughts  were  diverted  by  several  street  hawkers  who, 
in  selling  the  last  edition  of  an  evening  print,  announced  a 
"  drawing  "  of  the  lottery  stock  of  some  enterprise  launched 
by  the  Credit  National.  And  then  he  suddenly  recalled 
the  Moranges  in  their  dining-room,  and  heard  them  recapit- 


FRUITFULNESS  53 

ulate  their  dream  of  making  a  big  fortune  as  soon  as  the 
accountant  should  have  secured  a  post  in  one  of  the  big 
banking  establishments,  where  the  principals  raise  men  of 
value  to  the  highest  posts.  Those  Moranges  lived  in  ever- 
lasting dread  of  seeing  their  daughter  marry  a  needy  petty 
clerk ;  succumbing  to  that  irresistible  fever  which,  in  a 
democracy  ravaged  by  political  equality  and  economic  ine- 
quality, impels  every  one  to  climb  higher  up  the  social 
ladder.  Envy  consumed  them  at  the  thought  of  the  luxury 
of  others  ;  they  plunged  into  debt  in  order  that  they  might 
imitate  from  afar  the  elegance  of  the  upper  class,  and  all 
their  natural  honesty  and  good  nature  was  poisoned  by  the 
insanity  born  of  ambitious  pride.  And  here  again  but  one 
child  was  permissible,  lest  they  should  be  embarrassed,  de- 
layed, forever  impeded  in  the  attainment  of  the  future  they 
coveted. 

A  crowd  of  people  now  barred  Mathieu's  way,  and  he 
perceived  that  he  was  near  the  theatre,  where  a  first  per- 
formance was  taking  place  that  evening.  It  was  a  theatre 
where  free  farcical  pieces  were  produced,  and  on  its  walls 
were  posted  huge  portraits  of  its  "  star,"  a  carroty  wench 
with  a  long  flat  figure,  destitute  of  all  womanliness,  and 
seemingly  symbolical  of  perversity.  Passers-by  stopped  to 
gaze  at  the  bills,  the  vilest  remarks  were  heard,  and  Mathieu 
remembered  that  the  Seguins  and  Santerre  were  inside  the 
house,  laughing  at  the  piece,  which  was  of  so  filthy  a  nature 
that  the  spectators  at  the  dress  rehearsal,  though  they  were 
by  no  means  over-nice  in  such  matters,  had  expressed  their 
disgust  by  almost  wrecking  the  auditorium.  And  while  the 
Seguins  were  gloating  over  this  horror,  yonder,  at  their 
house  in  the  Avenue  d'Antin,  Celeste  had  just  put  the  chil- 
dren, Gaston  and  Lucie,  to  bed,  and  had  then  hastily  re- 
turned to  the  kitchen,  where  a  friend,  Madame  Menoux, 
who  kept  a  little  haberdasher's  shop  in  the  neighborhood, 
awaited  her.  Gaston,  having  been  given  some  wine  to 
drink,  was  already  asleep ;  but  Lucie,  who  again  felt  sick, 
lay  shivering  in  her  bed,  not  daring  to  call  Celeste,  lest  the 
servant,  who  did  not  like  to  be  disturbed,  should  ill-treat 


54  FRUITFULNESS 

her.  And,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  after  offering 
Santerre  an  oyster  supper  at  a  night  restaurant,  the  Seguins 
would  come  home,  their  minds  unhinged  by  the  imbecile 
literature  and  art  to  which  they  had  taken  for  fashion's 
sake,  vitiated  yet  more  by  the  ignoble  performance  they  had 
witnessed,  and  the  base  society  they  had  elbowed  at  supper. 
They  seemed  to  typify  vice  for  vice's  sake,  elegant  vice  and 
pessimism  as  a  principle. 

Indeed,  when  Mathieu  tried  to  sum  up  his  day,  he  found 
vice  on  every  side,  in  each  of  the  spheres  with  which  he  had 
come  in  contact.  And  now  the  examples  he  had  witnessed 
filled  him  no  longer  with  mere  surprise ;  they  disturbed 
him,  they  shook  his  beliefs,  they  made  him  doubt  whether 
his  notions  of  life,  duty,  and  happiness  might  not  after  all 
be  inaccurate. 

He  stopped  short  and  drew  a  long  breath,  seeking  to  drive 
away  his  growing  intoxication.  He  had  passed  the  Grand 
Opera  and  was  reaching  the  crossway  of  the  Rue  Drouot. 
Perhaps  his  increase  of  fever  was  due  to  those  glowing 
Boulevards.  The  private  rooms  of  the  restaurants  were 
still  ablaze,  the  cafes  threw  bright  radiance  across  the  road, 
the  pavement  was  blocked  by  their  tables  and  chairs  and 
customers.  All  Paris  seemed  to  have  come  down  thither 
to  enjoy  that  delightful  evening.  There  was  endless  elbow- 
ing, endless  mingling  of  breath  as  the  swelling  crowd 
sauntered  along.  Couples  lingered  before  the  sparkling 
displays  of  jewellers'  shops.  Middle-class  families  swept 
under  dazzling  arches  of  electric  lamps  into  cafes  concerts, 
whose  huge  posters  promised  the  grossest  amusements. 
Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  women  went  by  with  trailing 
skirts,  and  whispered  and  jested  and  laughed  ;  while  men 
darted  in  pursuit,  now  of  a  fair  chignon,  now  of  a  dark 
one.  In  the  open  cabs  men  and  women  sat  side  by  side, 
now  husbands  and  wives  long  since  married,  now  chance 
couples  who  had  met  but  an  hour  ago.  But  Mathieu  went  on 
again,  yielding  to  the  force  of  the  current,  carried  along  like 
all  the  others,  a  prey  to  the  same  fever  which  sprang  from 
the  surroundings,  from  the  excitement  of  the  day,  from  the 


FRUITFULNESS  55 

customs  of  the  age.  And  he  no  longer  took  the  Beauchenes, 
the  Moranges,  the  Seguins  as  isolated  types  ;  it  was  all  Paris 
that  symbolized  vice,  all  Paris  that  yielded  to  debauchery 
and  sank  into  degradation.  There  were  the  folks  of  high 
culture,  the  folks  suffering  from  literary  neurosis ;  there 
were  the  merchant  princes  ;  there  were  the  men  of  liberal 
professions,  the  lawyers,  the  doctors,  the  engineers ;  there 
were  the  people  of  the  lower  middle-class,  the  petty  trades- 
men, the  petty  clerks  ;  there  were  even  the  manual  workers, 
poisoned  by  the  example  of  the  upper  spheres  —  all  prac- 
tising the  doctrines  of  egotism  as  vanity  and  the  passion 
for  money  grew  more  and  more  intense.  .  .  .  No  more 
children  !  Paris  was  bent  on  dying.  And  Mathieu  recalled 
how  Napoleon  I.,  one  evening  after  battle,  on  beholding  a 
plain  strewn  with  the  corpses  of  his  soldiers,  had  put  his 
trust  in  Paris  to  repair  the  carnage  of  that  day.  But  times 
had  changed.  Paris  would  no  longer  supply  life,  whether 
it  were  for  slaughter  or  for  toil. 

And  as  Mathieu  thought  of  it  all  a  sudden  weakness 
came  upon  him.  Again  he  asked  himself  whether  the  Beau- 
chenes, the  Moranges,  the  Seguins,  and  all  those  thousands 
and  thousands  around  him  were  not  right,  and  whether  he 
were  not  the  fool,  the  dupe,  the  criminal,  with  his  belief  in  life 
ever  renascent,  ever  growing  and  spreading  throughout  the 
world.  And  before  him  arose,  too,  the  image  of  Seraphine, 
the  temptress,  opening  her  perfumed  arms  to  him  and 
carrying  him  off  to  the  same  existence  of  pleasure  and 
baseness  which  the  others  led. 

Then  he  remembered  the  three  hundred  francs  which  he 
carried  in  his  pocket.  Three  hundred  francs,  which  must  last 
for  a  whole  month,  though  out  of  them  he  had  to  pay  vari- 
ous little  sums  that  he  already  owed.  The  remainder  would 
barely  suffice  to  buy  a  ribbon  for  Marianne  and  jam  for  the 
youngsters'  bread.  And  if  he  set  the  Moranges  on  one 
side,  the  others,  the  Beauchenes  and  the  Seguins,  were  rich. 
He  bitterly  recalled  their  wealth.  He  pictured  the  rum- 
bling factory  with  its  black  buildings  covering  a  great  stretch 
of  ground  ;  he  pictured  hundreds  of  workmen  ever  increasing 


56  FRUITFULNESS 

the  fortune  of  their  master,  who  dwelt  in  a  handsomely 
appointed  pavilion  and  whose  only  son  was  growing  up  for 
future  sovereignty,  under  his  mother's  vigilant  eyes.  He 
pictured,  too,  the  Seguins'  luxurious  mansion  in  the  Avenue 
d'Antin,  the  great  hall,  the  magnificent  staircase,  the  vast 
room  above,  crowded  with  marvels ;  he  pictured  all  the 
refinement,  all  the  train  of  wealth,  all  the  tokens  of  lavish 
life,  the  big  dowry  which  would  be  given  to  the  little  girl, 
the  high  position  which  would  be  purchased  for  the  son. 
And  he,  bare  and  empty-handed,  who  now  possessed  noth- 
ing, not  even  a  stone  at  the  edge  of  a  field,  would  doubtless 
always  possess  nothing,  neither  factory  buzzing  with  work- 
men, nor  mansion  rearing  its  proud  front  aloft.  And  he 
was  the  imprudent  one,  and  the  others  were  the  sensible, 
the  wise.  What  would  ever  become  of  himself  and  his  troop 
of  children  ?  Would  he  not  die  in  some  garret  ?  would 
they  not  lead  lives  of  abject  wretchedness  ?  Ah  !  it  was 
evident  the  others  were  right,  the  others  were  sensible. 
And  he  felt  unhinged,  he  regarded  himself  with  contempt, 
like  a  fool  who  has  allowed  himself  to  be  duped. 

Then  once  more  the  image  of  Seraphine  arose  before  his 
eyes,  more  tempting  than  ever.  A  slight  quiver  came  upon 
him  as  he  beheld  the  blaze  of  the  Northern  railway  station 
and  all  the  feverish  traffic  around  it.  Wild  fancies  surged 
through  his  brain.  He  thought  of  Beauchene.  Why  should 
he  not  do  likewise  ?  He  recalled  past  times,  and,  yielding 
to  sudden  madness,  turned  his  back  upon  the  station  and 
retraced  his  steps  towards  the  Boulevards.  Seraphine,  he 
said  to  himself,  was  doubtless  waiting  for  him  ;  she  had  told 
him  that  he  would  always  be  welcome.  As  for  his  wife,  he 
would  tell  her  he  had  missed  his  train. 

At  last  a  block  in  the  traffic  made  him  pause,  and  on 
raising  his  eyes  he  saw  that  he  had  reached  the  Boulevards 
once  more.  The  crowd  still  streamed  along,  but  with  in- 
creased feverishness.  Mathieu's  temples  were  beating,  and 
wild  words  escaped  his  lips.  Why  should  he  not  live  the 
same  life  as  the  others  ?  He  was  ready,  even  eager,  to  plunge 
into  it.  But  the  block  in  the  traffic  continued,  he  could 


FRUITFULNESS  57 

not  cross  the  road  ;  and  while  he  stood  there  hesitation  and 
doubt  came  upon  him.  He  saw  in  that  increasing  obstruc- 
tion a  deliberate  obstacle  to  his  wild  design.  And  all  at 
once  the  image  of  Seraphine  faded  from  before  his  mind's 
eye  and  he  beheld  another,  his  wife,  his  dear  wife  Marianne, 
awaiting  him,  all  smiles  and  trustfulness,  in  the  fresh  quie- 
tude of  the  country.  Could  he  deceive  her  ?  .  .  .  Then  all 
at  once  he  again  rushed  off  towards  the  railway  station,  in 
fear  lest  he  should  lose  his  train.  He  was  determined  that 
he  would  listen  to  no  further  promptings,  that  he  would 
cast  no  further  glance  upon  glowing,  dissolute  Paris,  and  he 
reached  the  station  just  in  time  to  climb  into  a  car.  The 
train  started  and  he  journeyed  on,  leaning  out  of  his  com- 
partment and  offering  his  face  to  the  cool  night  breeze  in 
order  that  it  might  calm  and  carry  off  the  evil  fever  that  had 
possessed  him. 

The  night  was  moonless,  but  studded  with  such  pure  and 
such  glowing  stars  that  the  country  could  be  seen  spreading 
far  away  beneath  a  soft  bluish  radiance.  Already  at  twenty 
minutes  past  eleven  Marianne  found  herself  on  the  little 
bridge  crossing  the  Yeuse,  midway  between  Chantebled,  the 
pavilion  where  she  and  her  husband  lived,  and  the  station  of 
Janville.  The  children  were  fast  asleep ;  she  had  left  them 
in  the  charge  of  Zoe,  the  servant,  who  sat  knitting  beside 
a  lamp,  the  light  of  which  could  be  seen  from  afar,  showing 
like  a  bright  spark  amid  the  black  line  of  the  woods. 

Whenever  Mathieu  returned  home  by  the  seven  o'clock 
train,  as  was  his  wont,  Marianne  came  to  meet  him  at  the 
bridge.  Occasionally  she  brought  her  two  eldest  boys,  the 
twins,  with  her,  though  their  little  legs  moved  but  slowly 
on  the  return  journey  when,  in  retracing  their  steps,  a  thou- 
sand yards  or  more,  they  had  to  climb  a  rather  steep  hill- 
side. And  that  evening,  late  though  the  hour  was,  Marianne 
had  yielded  to  that  pleasant  habit  of  hers,  enjoying  the  de- 
light of  thus  going  forward  through  the  lovely  night  to  meet 
the  man  she  worshipped.  She  never  went  further  than  the 
bridge  which  arched  over  the  narrow  river.  She  seated 
herself  on  its  broad,  low  parapet,  as  on  some  rustic  bench? 


58  FRUITFULNESS 

and  thence  she  overlooked  the  whole  plain  as  far  as  the 
houses  of  Janville,  before  which  passed  the  railway  line. 
And  from  afar  she  could  see  her  husband  approaching  along 
the  road  which  wound  between  the  cornfields. 

That  evening  she  took  her  usual  seat  under  the  broad 
velvety  sky  spangled  with  gold.  And  with  a  movement 
which  bespoke  her  solicitude  she  turned  towards  the  bright 
little  light  shining  on  the  verge  of  the  sombre  woods,  a 
light  telling  of  the  quietude  of  the  room  in  which  it  burnt, 
the  servant's  tranquil  vigil,  and  the  happy  slumber  of  the 
children  in  the  adjoining  chamber.  Then  Marianne  let 
her  gaze  wander  all  around  her,  over  the  great  estate  of 
Chantebled,  belonging  to  the  Seguins.  The  dilapidated 
pavilion  stood  at  the  extreme  edge  of  the  woods  whose 
copses,  intersected  by  patches  of  heath,  spread  over  a  lofty 
plateau  to  the  distant  farms  of  Mareuil  and  Lillebonne. 
But  that  was  not  all,  for  to  the  west  of  the  plateau  lay 
more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  acres  of  land,  a  marshy 
expanse  where  pools  stagnated  amid  brushwood,  vast 
uncultivated  tracts,  where  one  went  duck-shooting  in  win- 
ter. And  there  was  yet  a  third  part  of  the  estate,  acres 
upon  acres  of  equally  sterile  soil,  all  sand  and  gravel, 
descending  in  a  gentle  slope  to  the  embankment  of  the 
railway  line.  It  was  indeed  a  stretch  of  country  lost  to 
culture,  where  the  few  good  patches  of  loam  remained 
unproductive,  inclosed  within  the  waste  land.  But  the 
spot  had  all  the  beauty  and  exquisite  wildness  of  solitude, 
and  was  one  that  appealed  to  healthy  minds  fond  of  seeing 
nature  in  freedom.  And  on  that  lovely  night  one  could 
nowhere  have  found  more  perfect  and  more  balmy  quiet. 

Marianne,  who  since  coming  to  the  district  had  already 
threaded  the  woodland  paths,  explored  the  stretches  of 
brushwood  around  the  meres,  and  descended  the  pebbly 
slopes,  let  her  eyes  travel  slowly  over  the  expanse,  divining 
spots  she  had  visited  and  was  fond  of,  though  the  darkness 
now  prevented  her  from  seeing  them.  In  the  depths  of 
the  woods  an  owl  raised  its  soft,  regular  cry,  while  from  a 
pond  on  the  right  ascended  a  faint  croaking  of  frogs,  so  far 


FRUITFULNESS  59 

away  that  it  sounded  like  the  vibration  of  crystal.  And 
from  the  other  side,  the  side  of  Paris,  there  came  a  growing 
rumble  which,  little  by  little,  rose  above  all  the  other 
sounds  of  the  night.  She  heard  it,  and  at  last  lent  ear  to 
nothing  else.  It  was  the  train,  for  whose  familiar  roar  she 
waited  every  evening.  As  soon  as  it  left  Monval  station 
on  its  way  to  Janville,  it  gave  token  of  its  coming,  but  so 
faintly  that  only  a  practised  ear  could  distinguish  its  rumble 
amid  the  other  sounds  rising  from  the  country  side.  For 
her  part,  she  heard  it  immediately,  and  thereupon  followed 
it  in  fancy  through  every  phase  of  its  journey.  And  never 
had  she  been  better  able  to  do  so  than  on  that  splendid 
night,  amid  the  profound  quietude  of  the  earth's  slumber. 
It  had  left  Monval,  it  was  turning  beside  the  brickworks, 
it  was  skirting  St.  George's  fields.  In  another  two  min- 
utes it  would  be  at  Janville.  Then  all  at  once  its  white 
light  shone  out  beyond  the  poplar  trees  of  Le  Mesnil 
Rouge,  and  the  panting  of  the  engine  grew  louder,  like 
that  of  some  giant  racer  drawing  near.  On  that  side  the 
plain  spread  far  away  into  a  dark,  unknown  region, 
beneath  the  star-spangled  sky,  which  on  the  very  horizon 
showed  a  ruddy  reflection  like  that  of  some  brasier,  the 
reflection  of  nocturnal  Paris,  blazing  and  smoking  in  the 
darkness  like  a  volcano. 

Marianne  sprang  to  her  feet.  The  train  stopped  at  Jan- 
ville, and  then  its  rumble  rose  again,  grew  fainter,  and  died 
away  in  the  direction  of  Vieux-Bourg.  But  she  no  longer 
paid  attention  to  it.  She  now  had  eyes  and  ears  only  for 
the  road  which  wound  like  a  pale  ribbon  between  the  dark 
patches  of  corn.  Her  husband  did  not  take  ten  minutes 
to  cover  the  thousand  yards  and  more  which  separated  the 
station  from  the  little  bridge.  And,  as  a  rule,  she  per- 
ceived and  recognized  him  far  ofF;  but  on  that  particular 
night,  such  was  the  deep  silence  that  she  could  distinguish 
his  footfall  on  the  echoing  road  long  before  his  dark,  slim 
figure  showed  against  the  pale  ground.  And  he  found  her 
there,  erect  under  the  stars,  smiling  and  healthy,  a  picture 
of  all  that  is  good.  The  milky  whiteness  of  her  skin  was 


60  FRUITFULNESS 

accentuated  by  her  beautiful  black  hair,  caught  up  in  a 
huge  coil,  and  her  big  black  eyes,  which  beamed  with  all 
the  gentleness  of  spouse  and  mother.  Her  straight  brow, 
her  nose,  her  mouth,  her  chin  so  boldly,  purely  rounded, 
her  cheeks  which  glowed  like  savory  fruit,  her  delightful 
little  ears  —  the  whole  of  her  face,  full  of  love  and  ten- 
derness, bespoke  beauty  in  full  health,  the  gayety  which 
comes  from  the  accomplishment  of  duty,  and  the  serene 
conviction  that  by  loving  life  she  would  live  as  she  ought 
to  live. 

"  What !  so  you've  come  then  !  "  Mathieu  exclaimed, 
as  soon  as  he  was  near  her.  "  But  I  begged  you  not  to 
come  out  so  late.  Are  you  not  afraid  at  being  alone  on 
the  roads  at  this  time  of  night  ? " 

She  began  to  laugh.  "  Afraid,"  said  she,  "  when  the 
night  is  so  mild  and  healthful  ?  Besides,  wouldn't  you 
rather  have  me  here  to  kiss  you  ten  minutes  sooner  ?  " 

Those  simple  words  brought  tears  to  Mathieu's  eyes. 
All  the  murkiness,  all  the  shame  through  which  he  had 
passed  in  Paris  horrified  him.  He  tenderly  took  his  wife 
in  his  arms,  and  they  exchanged  the  closest,  the  most 
human  of  kisses  amid  the  quiet  of  the  slumbering  fields. 
After  the  scorching  pavement  of  Paris,  after  the  eager 
struggling  of  the  day  and  the  degrading  spectacles  of  the 
night,  how  reposeful  was  that  far-spreading  silence,  that 
faint  bluish  radiance,  that  endless  unrolling  of  plains,  steeped 
in  refreshing  gloom  and  dreaming  of  fructification  by  the 
morrow's  sun !  And  what  suggestions  of  health,  and 
rectitude,  and  felicity  rose  from  productive  Nature,  who 
fell  asleep  beneath  the  dew  of  night  solely  that  she  might 
reawaken  in  triumph,  ever  and  ever  rejuvenated  by  life's 
torrent,  which  streams  even  through  the  dust  of  her  paths. 

Mathieu  slowly  seated  Marianne  on  the  low  broad 
parapet  once  more.  He  kept  her  near  his  heart ;  it  was 
a  halt  full  of  affection,  which  neither  could  forego,  in 
presence  of  the  universal  peace  that  came  to  them  from 
the  stars,  and  the  waters,  and  the  woods,  and  the  endless 
fields. 


FRUITFULNESS  61 

"  What  a  splendid  night !  "  murmured  Mathieu.  "  How 
beautiful  and  how  pleasant  to  live  in  it ! " 

Then,  after  a  moment's  rapture,  during  which  they 
both  heard  their  hearts  beating,  he  began  to  tell  her  of 
his  day.  She  questioned  him  with  loving  interest,  and  he 
answered,  happy  at  having  to  tell  her  no  lie. 

"  No,  the  Beauchenes  cannot  come  here  on  Sunday. 
Constance  never  cared  much  for  us,  as  you  well  know. 
Their  boy  Maurice  is  suffering  in  the  legs ;  Dr.  Boutan 
was  there,  and  the  question  of  children  was  discussed 
again.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  that.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Moranges  have  promised  to  come.  You  can't  have  an 
idea  of  the  delight  and  vanity  they  displayed  in  showing 
me  their  new  flat.  What  with  their  eagerness  to  make  a 
big  fortune  I'm  much  afraid  that  those  worthy  folks  will 
do  something  very  foolish.  Oh !  I  was  forgetting.  I 
called  on  the  landlord,  and  though  I  had  a  good  deal  of 
difficulty  over  it,  he  ended  by  consenting  to  have  the  roof 
entirely  relaid.  Ah !  what  a  home,  too,  those  Seguins 
have  !  I  came  away  feeling  quite  scared.  But  I  will  tell 
you  all  about  it  by  and  by  with  the  rest." 

Marianne  evinced  no  loquacious  curiosity  ;  she  quietly 
awaited  his  confidences,  and  showed  anxiety  only  respecting 
themselves  and  the  children. 

"  You  received  your  salary,  didn't  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  need  not  be  afraid  about  that." 

"  Oh  !  I'm  not  afraid,  it's  only  our  little  debts  which 
worry  me." 

Then  she  asked  again  :  "  And  did  your  business  dinner 
go  off  all  right  ?  I  was  afraid  that  Beauchene  might  detain 
you  and  make  you  miss  your  train." 

He  replied  that  everything  had  gone  off  properly,  but 
as  he  spoke  he  flushed  and  felt  a  pang  at  his  heart. 
To  rid  himself  of  his  emotion  he  affected  sudden 
gayety. 

"  Well,  and  you,  my  dear,"  he  asked,  "  how  did  you 
manage  with  your  thirty  sous  ?  " 

"  My  thirty  sous  !  "  she  gayly  responded,  "  why,  I  was 


62  FRUITFULNESS 

much  too  rich ;  we  fared  like  princes,  all  five  of  us,  and 
I  have  six  sous  left." 

Then,  in  her  turn,  she  gave  an  account  of  her  day,  her 
daily  life,  pure  as  crystal.  She  recapitulated  what  she  had 
done,  what  she  had  said ;  she  related  how  the  children  had 
behaved,  and  she  entered  into  the  minutest  details  respect- 
ing them  and  the  house.  With  her,  moreover,  one  day 
was  like  another;  each  morning  she  set  herself  to  live  the 
same  life  afresh,  with  never-failing  happiness. 

"  To-day,  though,  we  had  a  visit,"  said  she  ;  u  Madame 
Lepailleur,  the  woman  from  the  mill  over  yonder,  came  to 
tell  me  that  she  had  some  fine  chickens  for  sale.  As  we 
owe  her  twelve  francs  for  eggs  and  milk,  I  believe  that  she 
simply  called  to  see  if  I  meant  to  pay  her.  I  told  her  that 
I  would  go  to  her  place  to-morrow." 

While  speaking  Marianne  had  pointed  through  the  gloom 
towards  a  big  black  pile,  a  little  way  down  the  Yeuse.  It 
was  an  old  water-mill  which  was  still  worked,  and  the 
Lepailleurs  had  now  been  installed  in  it  for  three  genera- 
tions. The  last  of  them,  Francois  Lepailleur,  who  con- 
sidered himself  to  be  no  fool,  had  come  back  from  his 
military  service  with  little  inclination  to  work,  and  an  idea 
that  the  mill  would  never  enrich  him,  any  more  than  it  had 
enriched  his  father  and  grandfather.  It  then  occurred  to 
him  to  marry  a  peasant  farmer's  daughter,  Victoire  Cornu, 
whose  dowry  consisted  of  some  neighboring  fields  skirting 
the  Yeuse.  And  the  young  couple  then  lived  fairly  at  their 
ease,  on  the  produce  of  those  fields  and  such  small  quanti- 
ties of  corn  as  the  peasants  of  the  district  still  brought  to 
be  ground  at  the  old  mill.  If  the  antiquated  and  badly 
repaired  mechanism  of  the  mill  had  been  replaced  by  mod- 
ern appliances,  and  if  the  land,  instead  of  being  impover- 
ished by  adherence  to  old-fashioned  practices,  had  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  an  intelligent  man  who  believed  in  prog- 
ress, there  would  no  doubt  have  been  a  fortune  in  it  all. 
But  Lepailleur  was  not  only  disgusted  with  work,  he 
treated  the  soil  with  contempt.  He  indeed  typified  the 
peasant  who  has  grown  weary  of  his  eternal  mistress,  the 


FRUITFULNESS  63 

mistress  whom  his  forefathers  loved  too  much.  Remem- 
bering that,  in  spite  of  all  their  efforts  to  fertilize  the  soil, 
it  had  never  made  them  rich  or  happy,  he  had  ended  by 
hating  it.  All  his  faith  in  its  powers  had  departed;  he 
accused  it  of  having  lost  its  fertility,  of  being  used  up  and 
decrepit,  like  some  old  cow  which  one  sends  to  the  slaugh- 
ter-house. And,  according  to  him,  everything  went  wrong  : 
the  soil  simply  devoured  the  seed  sown  in  it,  the  weather 
was  never  such  as  it  should  be,  the  seasons  no  longer  came 
in  their  proper  order.  Briefly,  it  was  all  a  premeditated 
disaster  brought  about  by  some  evil  power  which  had  a 
spite  against  the  peasantry,  who  were  foolish  to  give  their 
sweat  and  their  blood  to  such  a  thankless  creature. 

"  Madame  Lepailleur  brought  her  boy  with  her,  a  little 
fellow  three  years  old,  called  Antonin,"  resumed  Marianne, 
"and  we  fell  to  talking  of  children  together.  She  quite 
surprised  me.  Peasant  folks,  you  know,  used  to  have  such 
large  families.  But  she  declared  that  one  child  was  quite 
enough.  Yet  she's  only  twenty-four,  and  her  husband  not 
yet  twenty-seven." 

These  remarks  revived  the  thoughts  which  had  filled 
Mathieu's  mind  all  day.  For  a  moment  he  remained  silent. 
Then  he  said,  "  She  gave  you  her  reasons,  no  doubt  ?  " 

"  Give  reasons  —  she,  with  her  head  like  a  horse's,  her 
long  freckled  face,  pale  eyes,  and  tight,  miserly  mouth  —  I 
think  she's  simply  a  fool,  ever  in  admiration  before  her 
husband  because  he  fought  in  Africa  and  reads  the  news- 
papers. All  that  I  could  get  out  of  her  was  that  children  cost 
one  a  good  deal  more  than  they  bring  in.  But  the  husband, 
no  doubt,  has  ideas  of  his  own.  You  have  seen  him,  haven't 
you  ?  A  tall,  slim  fellow,  as  carroty  and  as  scraggy  as  his 
wife,  with  an  angular  face,  green  eyes,  and  prominent  cheek- 
bones. He  looks  as  though  he  had  never  felt  in  a  good 
humor  in  his  life.  And  I  understand  that  he  is  always 
complaining  of  his  father-in-law,  because  the  other  had 
three  daughters  and  a  son.  Of  course  that  cut  down  his 
wife's  dowry  ;  she  inherited  only  a  part  of  her  father's 
property.  And,  besides,  as  the  trade  of  a  miller  never  en- 


64  FRUITFULNESS 

riched  his  father,  Lepailleur  curses  his  mill  from  morning 
till  night,  and  declares  that  he  won't  prevent  his  boy  Antonin 
from  going  to  eat  white  bread  in  Paris,  if  he  can  find  a  good 
berth  there  when  he  grows  up." 

Thus,  even  among  the  country  folks,  Mathieu  found  a 
small  family  the  rule.  Among  the  causes  were  the  fear  of 
having  to  split  up  an  inheritance,  the  desire  to  rise  in  the 
social  system,  the  disgust  of  manual  toil,  and  the  thirst  for 
the  luxuries  of  town  life.  Since  the  soil  was  becoming 
bankrupt,  why  indeed  continue  tilling  it,  when  one  knew 
that  one  would  never  grow  rich  by  doing  so?  Mathieu 
was  on  the  point  of  explaining  these  things  to  his  wife,  but 
he  hesitated,  and  then  simply  said :  "  Lepailleur  does  wrong 
to  complain  ;  he  has  two  cows  and  a  horse,  and  when  there 
is  urgent  work  he  can  take  an  assistant.  We,  this  morning, 
had  just  thirty  sous  belonging  to  us,  and  we  own  no  mill, 
no  scrap  of  land.  For  my  part  I  think  his  mill  superb ;  I 
envy  him  every  time  I  cross  this  bridge.  Just  fancy  !  we 
two  being  the  millers  —  why,  we  should  be  very  rich  and 
very  happy  !  " 

This  made  them  both  laugh,  and  for  another  moment 
they  remained  seated  there,  watching  the  dark  massive  mill 
beside  the  Yeuse.  Between  the  willows  and  poplars  on 
both  banks  the  little  river  flowed  on  peacefully,  scarce  mur- 
muring as  it  coursed  among  the  water  plants  which  made 
it  ripple.  Then,  amid  a  clump  of  oaks,  appeared  the  big 
shed  sheltering  the  wheel,  and  the  other  buildings  garlanded 
with  ivy,  honeysuckle,  and  creepers,  the  whole  forming  a 
spot  of  romantic  prettiness.  And  at  night,  especially  when 
the  mill  slept,  without  a  light  at  any  of  its  windows,  there 
was  nothing  of  more  dreamy,  more  gentle  charm. 

"  Why  !  "  remarked  Mathieu,  lowering  his  voice,  "  there 
is  somebody  under  the  willows,  beside  the  water.  I  heard 
a  slight  noise." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  replied  Marianne  with  tender  gayety. 
"  It  must  be  the  young  couple  who  settled  themselves  in 
the  little  house  yonder  a  fortnight  ago.  You  know  whom 
I  mean  —  Madame  Angelin,  that  schoolmate  of  Constance's. 


FRUITFULNESS  65 

The  Angelins,  who  had  become  their  neighbors,  inter- 
ested the  Froments.  The  wife  was  of  the  same  age  as 
Marianne,  tall,  dark,  with  fine  hair  and  fine  eyes,  radiant 
with  continual  joy,  and  fond  of  pleasure.  And  the  husband 
was  of  the  same  age  as  Mathieu,  a  handsome  fellow,  very 
much  in  love,  with  moustaches  waving  in  the  wind,  and 
the  joyous  spirits  of  a  musketeer.  They  had  married  with 
sudden  passion  for  one  another,  having  between  them  an 
income  of  some  ten  thousand  francs  a  year,  which  the  hus- 
band, a  fan  painter  with  a  pretty  talent,  might  have  doubled 
had  it  not  been  for  the  spirit  of  amorous  idleness  into  which 
his  marriage  had  thrown  him.  And  that  spring-time  they 
had  sought  a  refuge  in  that  desert  of  Janville,  that  they 
might  love  freely,  passionately,  in  the  midst  of  nature. 
They  were  always  to  be  met,  holding  each  other  by  the 
waist,  on  the  secluded  paths  in  the  woods  ;  and  at  night 
they  loved  to  stroll  across  the  fields,  beside  the  hedges, 
along  the  shady  banks  of  the  Yeuse,  delighted  when  they 
could  linger  till  very  late  near  the  murmuring  water,  in  the 
thick  shade  of  the  willows. 

But  there  was  quite  another  side  to  their  idyl,  and 
Marianne  mentioned  it  to  her  husband.  She  had  chatted 
with  Madame  Angelin,  and  it  appeared  that  the  latter 
wished  to  enjoy  life,  at  all  events  for  the  present,  and  did 
not  desire  to  be  burdened  with  children.  Then  Mathieu's 
worrying  thoughts  once  more  came  back  to  him,  and  again 
at  this  fresh  example  he  wondered  who  was  right  —  he  who 
stood  alone  in  his  belief,  or  all  the  others. 

"  Well,"  he  muttered  at  last,  "  we  all  live  according  to  our 
fancy.  But  come,  my  dear,  let  us  go  in  ;  we  disturb  them." 

They  slowly  climbed  the  narrow  road  leading  to  Chante- 
bled,  where  the  lamp  shone  out  like  a  beacon.  When 
Mathieu  had  bolted  the  front  door  they  groped  their  way 
upstairs.  The  ground  floor  of  their  little  house  comprised 
a  dining-room  and  a  drawing-room  on  the  right  hand  of  the 
hall,  and  a  kitchen  and  a  store  place  on  the  left.  Upstairs 
there  were  four  bedrooms.  Their  scanty  furniture  seemed 
quite  lost  in  those  big  rooms  ;  but,  exempt  from  vanity  as 


66  FRUITFULNESS 

they  were,  they  merely  laughed  at  this.  By  way  of  luxury 
they  had  simply  hung  some  little  curtains  of  red  stuff  at  the 
windows,  and  the  ruddy  reflection  from  these  hangings 
seemed  to  them  to  impart  wonderfully  rich  cheerfulness  to 
their  home. 

They  found  Zoe,  their  peasant  servant,  asleep  over  her 
knitting  beside  the  lamp  in  their  own  bedroom,  and  they 
had  to  wake  her  and  send  her  as  quietly  as  possible  to  bed. 
Then  Mathieu  took  up  the  lamp  and  entered  the  children's 
room  to  kiss  them  and  make  sure  that  they  were  comfortable. 
It  was  seldom  they  awoke  on  these  occasions.  Having 
placed  the  lamp  on  the  mantelshelf,  he  still  stood  there 
looking  at  the  three  little  beds  when  Marianne  joined  him. 
In  the  bed  against  the  wall  at  one  end  of  the  room  lay 
Blaise  and  Denis,  the  twins,  sturdy  little  fellows  six  years 
of  age  ;  while  in  the  second  bed  against  the  opposite  wall 
was  Ambroise,  now  nearly  four  and  quite  a  little  cherub. 
And  the  third  bed,  a  cradle,  was  occupied  by  Mademoiselle 
Rose,  fifteen  months  of  age  and  weaned  for  three  weeks 
past.  She  lay  there  half  naked,  showing  her  white  flower- 
like  skin,  and  her  mother  had  to  cover  her  up  with  the  bed- 
clothes, which  she  had  thrust  aside  with  her  self-willed 
little  fists.  Meantime  the  father  busied  himself  with 
Ambroise's  pillow,  which  had  slipped  aside.  Both  hus- 
band and  wife  came  and  went  very  gently,  and  bent  again 
and  again  over  the  children's  faces  to  make  sure  that  they 
were  sleeping  peacefully.  They  kissed  them  and  lingered 
yet  a  little  longer,  fancying  that  they  had  heard  Blaise  and 
Denis  stirring.  At  last  the  mother  took  up  the  lamp  and 
they  went  off,  one  after  the  other,  on  tiptoe. 

When  they  were  in  their  room  again  Marianne  ex- 
claimed :  "  I  didn't  want  to  worry  you  while  we  were  out, 
but  Rose  made  me  feel  anxious  to-day  ;  I  did  not  find  her 
well,  and  it  was  only  this  evening  that  I  felt  more  at  ease 
about  her."  Then,  seeing  that  Mathieu  started  and  turned 
pale,  she  went  on  :  "  Oh  !  it  was  nothing.  I  should  not 
have  gone  out  if  I  had  felt  the  least  fear  for  her.  But  with 
those  little  folks  one  is  never  free  from  anxiety." 


FRUITFULNESS  67 

She  then  began  to  make  her  preparations  for  the  night ; 
but  Mathieu,  instead  of  imitating  her,  sat  down  at  the  table 
where  the  lamp  stood,  and  drew  the  money  paid  to  him  by 
Morange  from  his  pocket.  When  he  had  counted  those 
three  hundred  francs,  those  fifteen  louis,  he  said  in  a  bitter, 
jesting  way,  "  The  money  hasn't  grown  on  the  road.  Here 
it  is  ;  you  can  pay  our  debts  to-morrow." 

This  remark  gave  him  a  fresh  idea.  Taking  his  pencil 
he  began  to  ]ot  down  the  various  amounts  they  owed  on  a 
blank  page  of  his  pocket  diary.  "We  say  twelve  francs 
to  the  Lepailleurs  for  eggs  and  milk.  How  much  do  you 
owe  the  butcher  ? "  he  asked. 

"  The  butcher,"  replied  Marianne,  who  had  sat  down  to 
take  off  her  shoes  ;  "  well,  say  twenty  francs." 

u  And  the  grocer  and  the  baker  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,  but  about  thirty  francs  alto- 
gether. There  is  nobody  else." 

Then  Mathieu  added  up  the  items  :  "  That  makes  sixty- 
two  francs,"  said  he.  "  Take  them  away  from  three  hun- 
dred, and  we  shall  have  two  hundred  and  thirty-eight  left. 
Eight  francs  a  day  at  the  utmost.  Well,  we  have  a  nice 
month  before  us,  with  our  four  children  to  feed,  particularly 
if  little  Rose  should  fall  ill." 

The  remark  surprised  his  wife,  who  laughed  gayly  and 
confidently,  saying  :  "  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you 
to-night,  my  dear  ?  You  seem  to  be  almost  in  despair, 
when  as  a  rule  you  look  forward  to  the  morrow  as  full  of 
promise.  You  have  often  said  that  it  was  sufficient  to  love 
life  if  one  wished  to  live  happily.  As  for  me,  you  know, 
with  you  and  the  little  ones  I  feel  the  happiest,  richest 
woman  in  the  world  !  " 

At  this  Mathieu  could  restrain  himself  no  longer. 
He  shook  his  head  and  mournfully  began  to  recapitulate 
the  day  he  had  just  spent.  At  great  length  he  relieved  his 
long-pent-up  feelings.  He  spoke  of  their  poverty  and  the 
prosperity  of  others.  He  spoke  of  the  Beauchenes,  the 
Moranges,  the  Seguins,  the  Lepailleurs,  of  all  he  had  seen 
of  them,  of  all  they  had  said,  of  all  their  scarcely  disguised 


68  FRUITFULNESS 

contempt  for  an  improvident  starveling  like  himself.  He, 
Mathieu,  and  she,  Marianne,  would  never  have  factory, 
nor  mansion,  nor  mill,  nor  an  income  of  twelve  thousand 
francs  a  year;  and  their  increasing  penury,  as  the  others 
said,  had  been  their  own  work.  They  had  certainly  shown 
themselves  imprudent,  improvident.  And  he  went  on  with 
his  recollections,  telling  Marianne  that  he  feared  nothing 
for  himself,  but  that  he  did  not  wish  to  condemn  her  and 
the  little  ones  to  want  and  poverty.  She  was  surprised  at 
first,  and  by  degrees  became  colder,  more  constrained,  as  he 
told  her  all  that  he  had  upon  his  mind.  Tears  slowly 
welled  into  her  eyes ;  and  at  last,  however  lovingly  he 
spoke,  she  could  no  longer  restrain  herself,  but  burst  into 
sobs.  She  did  not  question  what  he  said,  she  spoke  no 
words  of  revolt,  but  it  was  evident  that  her  whole  being 
rebelled,  and  that  her  heart  was  sorely  grieved. 

He  started,  greatly  troubled  when  he  saw  her  tears. 
Something  akin  to  her  own  feelings  came  upon  him.  He 
was  terribly  distressed,  angry  with  himself.  "  Do  not 
weep,  my  darling !  "  he  exclaimed  as  he  pressed  her  to 
him  :  "  it  was  stupid,  brutal,  and  wrong  of  me  to  speak  to 
you  in  that  way.  Don't  distress  yourself,  I  beg  you ;  we'll 
think  it  all  over  and  talk  about  it  some  other  time." 

She  ceased  to  weep,  but  she  continued  silent,  clinging  to 
him,  with  her  head  resting  on  his  shoulder.  And  Mathieu, 
by  the  side  of  that  loving,  trustful  woman,  all  health  and 
rectitude  and  purity,  felt  more  and  more  confused,  more 
and  more  ashamed  of  himself,  ashamed  of  having  given 
heed  to  the  base,  sordid,  calculating  principles  which  others 
made  the  basis  of  their  lives.  He  thought  with  loathing 
of  the  sudden  frenzy  which  had  possessed  him  during  the 
evening  in  Paris.  Some  poison  must  have  been  instilled 
into  his  veins ;  he  could  not  recognize  himself.  But  honor 
and  rectitude,  clear-sightedness  and  trustfulness  in  life  were 
fast  returning.  Through  the  window,  which  had  remained 
open,  all  the  sounds  of  the  lovely  spring  night  poured  into 
the  room.  It  was  spring,  the  season  of  love,  and  beneath 
the  palpitating  stars  in  the  broad  heavens,  from  fields  and 


FRUITFULNESS  69 

forests  and  waters  came  the  murmur  of  germinating  life. 
And  never  had  Mathieu  more  fully  realized  that,  whatever 
loss  may  result,  whatever  difficulty  may  arise,  whatever 
fate  may  be  in  store,  all  the  creative  powers  of  the  world, 
whether  of  the  animal  order,  whether  of  the  order  of  the 
plants,  for  ever  and  ever  wage  life's  great  incessant  battle 
against  death.  Man  alone,  dissolute  and  diseased  among 
all  the  other  denizens  of  the  world,  all  the  healthful  forces 
of  nature,  seeks  death  for  death's  sake,  the  annihilation  of 
his  species.  Then  Mathieu  again  caught  his  wife  in  a 
close  embrace,  printing  on  her  lips  a  long,  ardent  kiss. 

"  Ah  !  dear  heart,  forgive  me  ;  I  doubted  both  of  us.  It 
would  be  impossible  for  either  of  us  to  sleep  unless  you  for- 
give me.  Well,  let  the  others  hold  us  in  derision  and  con- 
tempt  if  they  choose.  Let  us  love  and  live  as  nature  tells 
us,  for  you  are  right  :  therein  lies  true  wisdom  and  true 
courage." 


MATHIEU  rose  noiselessly  from  his  little  folding  iron 
bedstead  beside  the  large  one  of  mahogany,  on  which 
Marianne  lay  alone.  He  looked  at  her,  and  saw  that  she 
was  awake  and  smiling. 

"  What !  you  are  not  asleep  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  hardly 
dared  to  stir  for  fear  of  waking  you.  It  is  nearly  nine 
o'clock,  you  know." 

It  was  Sunday  morning.  January  had  come  round,  and 
they  were  in  Paris.  During  the  first  fortnight  in  Decem- 
ber the  weather  had  proved  frightful  at  Chantebled,  icy 
rains  being  followed  by  snow  and  terrible  cold.  This  rigo- 
rous temperature,  coupled  with  the  circumstance  that  Mari- 
anne was  again  expecting  to  become  a  mother,  had  finally 
induced  Mathieu  to  accept  Beauchene's  amiable  offer  to 
place  at  his  disposal  the  little  pavilion  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Federation,  where  the  founder  of  the  works  had  lived 
before  building  the  superb  house  on  the  quay.  An  old 
foreman  who  had  occupied  this  pavilion,  which  still  con- 
tained the  simple  furniture  of  former  days,  had  lately  died. 
And  the  young  folks,  desiring  to  be  near  their  friend,  worthy 
Dr.  Boutan,  had  lived  there  for  a  month  now,  and  did  not 
intend  to  return  to  Chantebled  until  the  first  fine  days  in 
April. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  resumed  Mathie'u ;  "  I  will  let  the 
light  in." 

He  thereupon  drew  back  one  of  the  curtains,  and  a  broad 
ray  of  yellow,  wintry  sunshine  illumined  the  dim  room. 
"Ah!  there's  the  sun!  And  it's  splendid  weather  —  and 
Sunday  too  !  I  shall  be  able  to  take  you  out  for  a  little 
while  with  the  children  this  afternoon." 

Then  Marianne  called  him  to  her,  and,  when  he  had 

70 


FRUITFULNESS  71 

seated  himself  on  the  bed,  took  hold  of  his  hand  and  said 
gayly  :  "  Well,  I  hadn't  been  sleeping  either  for  the  last 
twenty  minutes  ;  and  I  didn't  move  because  I  wanted  you 
to  lie  in  bed  a  little  late,  as  it's  Sunday.  How  amusing  to 
think  that  we  were  afraid  of  waking  one  another  when  we 
both  had  our  eyes  wide  open  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  he,  "  I  was  so  happy  to  think  you  were 
sleeping.  My  one  delight  on  Sundays  now  is  to  remain  in 
this  room  all  the  morning,  and  spend  the  whole  day  with 
you  and  the  children."  Then  he  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise 
and  remorse  :  "  Why  !  I  haven't  kissed  you  yet." 

She  had  raised  herself  on  her  pillows,  and  he  gave  her  an 
eager  clasp.  In  the  stream  of  bright  sunshine  which  gilded 
the  bed  she  herself  looked  radiant  with  health  and  strength 
and  hope.  Never  had  her  heavy  brown  tresses  flowed  down 
more  abundantly,  never  had  her  big  eyes  smiled  with  gayer 
courage.  And  sturdy  and  healthful  as  she  was,  with  her 
face  all  kindliness  and  love,  she  looked  like  the  very  per- 
sonification of  Fruitfulness,  the  good  goddess  with  dazzling 
skin  and  perfect  flesh,  of  sovereign  dignity. 

They  remained  for  a  moment  clasped  together  in  the 
golden  sunshine  which  enveloped  them  with  radiance. 
Then  Mathieu  pulled  up  Marianne's  pillows,  set  the  coun- 
terpane in  order,  and  forbade  her  to  stir  until  he  had  tidied 
the  room.  Forthwith  he  stripped  his  little  bedstead,  folded 
up  the  sheets,  the  mattress,  and  the  bedstead  itself,  over 
which  he  slipped  a  cover.  She  vainly  begged  him  not  to 
trouble,  saying  that  Zoe,  the  servant  whom  they  had  brought 
from  the  country,  could  very  well  do  all  those  things.  But 
he  persisted,  replying  that  the  servant  plagued  him,  and 
that  he  preferred  to  be  alone  to  attend  her  and  do  all  that 
there  was  to  do.  Then,  as  he  suddenly  began  to  shiver, 
he  remarked  that  the  room  was  cold,  and  blamed  himself 
for  not  having  already  lighted  the  fire.  Some  logs  and 
some  small  wood  were  piled  in  a  corner,  near  the  chimney- 
piece. 

"  How  stupid  of  me  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  here  am  I  leav- 
ing you  to  freeze." 


?i  FRUITFULNESS 

Then  he  knelt  down  before  the  fireplace,  while  she 
protested :  "  What  an  idea !  Leave  all  that,  and  call 
Zoe." 

"  No,  no,  she  doesn't  know  how  to  light  the  fire  prop- 
erly, and  besides,  it  amuses  me." 

He  laughed  triumphantly  when  a  bright  clear  fire  began 
to  crackle,  filling  the  room  with  additional  cheerfulness. 
The  place  was  now  a  little  paradise,  said  he ;  but  he  had 
scarcely  finished  washing  and  dressing  when  the  partition 
behind  the  bed  was  shaken  by  a  vigorous  thumping. 

"  Ah  !  the  rascals,"  he  gayly  exclaimed.  "  They  are 
awake,  you  see  !  Oh  !  well,  we  may  let  them  come,  since 
to-day  is  Sunday." 

For  a  few  moments  there  had  been  a  noise  as  of  an  avi- 
ary in  commotion  in  the  adjoining  room.  Prattling,  shrill 
chirping,  and  ringing  bursts  of  laughter  could  be  heard. 
Then  came  a  noise  as  of  pillows  and  bolsters  flying  about, 
while  two  little  fists  continued  pummelling  the  partition  as 
if  it  were  a  drum. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  mother,  smiling  and  anxious,  "  an- 
swer them ;  tell  them  to  come.  They  will  be  breaking 
everything  if  you  don't." 

Thereupon  the  father  himself  struck  the  wall,  at  which 
a  victorious  outburst,  cries  of  triumphal  delight,  arose  on 
the  other  side.  And  Mathieu  scarcely  had  time  to  open  the 
door  before  tramping  and  scuffling  could  be  heard  in  the 
passage.  A  triumphal  entry  followed.  All  four  of  them 
wore  long  nightdresses  falling  to  their  little  bare  feet,  and 
they  trotted  along  and  laughed,  with  their  brown  hair 
streaming  about,  their  faces  quite  pink,  and  their  eyes 
radiant  with  candid  delight.  Ambroise,  though  he  was 
younger  than  his  brothers,  marched  first,  for  he  was  the 
boldest  and  most  enterprising.  Behind  him  came  the  twins, 
Blaise  and  Denis,  who  were  less  turbulent  —  the  latter  espe- 
cially. He  taught  the  others  to  read,  while  Blaise,  who 
was  rather  shy  and  timid,  remained  the  dreamer  of  them 
all.  And  each  gave  a  hand  to  little  Mademoiselle  Rose, 
who  looked  like  an  angel,  pulled  now  to  the  right  and  now 


FRUITFULNESS  73 

to  the  left  amid  bursts  of  laughter,  while  she  contrived  to 
keep  herself  steadily  erect. 

"Ah!  mamma,"  cried  Ambroise,  "it's  dreadfully  cold, 
you  know ;  do  make  me  a  little  room." 

Forthwith  he  bounded  into  the  bed,  slipped  under  the 
coverlet,  and  nestled  close  to  his  mother,  so  that  only  his 
laughing  face  and  fine  curly  hair  could  be  seen.  But  at 
this  the  two  others  raised  a  shout  of  war,  and  rushed 
forward  in  their  turn  upon  the  besieged  citadel. 

"  Make  a  little  room  for  us,  mamma,  make  a  little  room  ! 
By  your  back,  mamma  !  Near  your  shoulder,  mamma  !  " 

Only  little  Rose  remained  on  the  floor,  feeling  quite 
vexed  and  indignant.  She  had  vainly  attempted  the  assault, 
but  had  fallen  back.  "And  me,  mamma,  and  me,"  she 
pleaded. 

It  was  necessary  to  help  her  in  her  endeavors  to  hoist 
herself  up  with  her  little  hands.  Then  her  mother  took  her 
in  her  arms  in  order  that  she  might  have  the  best  place  of 
all.  Mathieu  had  at  first  felt  somewhat  anxious  at  seeing 
Marianne  thus  disturbed,  but  she  laughed  and  told  him  not 
to  trouble.  And  then  the  picture  they  all  presented  as  they 
nestled  there  was  so  charming,  so  full  of  gayety,  that  he  also 
smiled. 

"  It's  very  nice,  it's  so  warm,"  said  Ambroise,  who  was 
fond  of  taking  his  ease. 

But  Denis,  the  reasonable  member  of  the  band,  began 
to  explain  why  it  was  they  had  made  so  much  noise  : 
"  Blaise  said  that  he  had  seen  a  spider.  And  then  he  felt 
frightened." 

This  accusation  of  cowardice  vexed  his  brother,  who 
replied  :  "  It  isn't  true.  I  did  see  a  spider,  but  I  threw  my 
pillow  at  it  to  kill  it." 

"  So  did  I !  so  did  I !  "  stammered  Rose,  again  laughing 
wildly.  "  I  threw  my  pillow  like  that  —  houp  !  houp  !  " 

They  all  roared  and  wriggled  again,  so  amusing  did  it 
seem  to  them.  "  The  truth  was  that  they  had  engaged  in  a 
pillow  fight  under  pretence  of  killing  a  spider,  which  Blaise 
alone  said  that  he  had  seen.  This  unsupported  testimony 


74  FRUITFULNESS 

left  the  matter  rather  doubtful.  But  the  whole  brood  looked 
so  healthful  and  fresh  in  the  bright  sunshine  that  their  father 
could  not  resist  taking  them  in  his  arms,  and  kissing  them 
here  and  there,  wherever  his  lips  lighted,  a  final  game  which 
sent  them  into  perfect  rapture  amid  a  fresh  explosion  of 
laughter  and  shouts. 

"  Oh  !  what  fun  !  what  fun !  " 

"All  the  same,"  Marianne  exclaimed,  as  she  succeeded 
in  freeing  herself  somewhat  from  the  embraces  of  the  chil- 
dren, "all  the  same,  you  know,  I  want  to  get  up.  I  mustn't 
idle,  for  it  does  me  no  good.  And  besides,  you  little  ones 
need  to  be  washed  and  dressed." 

They  dressed  in  front  of  the  big  blazing  fire ;  and  it  was 
nearly  ten  o'clock  when  they  at  last  went  down  into  the 
dining-room,  where  the  earthenware  stove  was  roaring,  while 
the  warm  breakfast  milk  steamed  upon  the  table.  The 
ground  floor  of  the  pavilion  comprised  a  dining-room  and  a 
drawing-room  on  the  right  of  the  hall,  and  a  kitchen  and  a 
study  on  the  left.  The  dining-room,  like  the  principal  bed- 
chamber, overlooked  the  Rue  de  la  Federation,  and  was  filled 
every  morning  with  cheerfulness  by  the  rising  sun. 

The  children  were  already  at  table,  with  their  noses  in 
their  cups,  when  a  ring  at  the  street  door  was  heard.  And 
it  was  Dr.  Boutan  who  came  in.  His  arrival  brought  a 
renewal  of  noisy  mirth,  for  the  youngsters  were  fond  of  his 
round,  good-natured  face.  He  had  attended  them  all  at 
their  births,  and  treated  them  like  an  old  friend,  with  whom 
familiarity  is  allowable.  And  so  they  were  already  thrust- 
ing back  their  chairs  to  dart  towards  the  doctor,  when  a 
remark  from  their  mother  restrained  them. 

"  Now,  please  just  leave  the  doctor  quiet,"  said  she, 
adding  gayly,  "  Good  morning,  doctor.  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you  for  this  bright  sunshine,  for  I'm  sure  you  ordered  it 
so  that  I  might  go  for  a  walk  this  afternoon." 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course  I  ordered  it  —  I  was  passing  this 
way,  and  thought  I  would  look  in  to  see  how  you  were 
getting  on." 

Boutan  took  a  chair  and  seated  himself  near  the  table, 


FRUITFULNESS  75 

while  Mathieu  explained  to  him  that  they  had  remained 
late  in  bed. 

"  Yes,  that  is  all  right,  let  her  rest :  but  she  must  also 
take  as  much  exercise  as  possible.  However,  there  is  no 
cause  to  worry.  I  see  that  she  has  a  good  appetite.  When 
I  find  my  patients  at  table,  I  cease  to  be  a  doctor,  you  know, 
I  am  simply  a  friend  making  a  call." 

Then  he  put  a  few  questions,  which  the  children,  who 
were  busy  breakfasting,  did  not  hear.  And  afterwards  there 
came  a  pause  in  the  conversation,  which  the  doctor  himself 
resumed,  following,  no  doubt,  some  train  of  thought  which 
he  did  not  explain  :  "  I  hear  that  you  are  to  lunch  with  the 
Seguins  next  Thursday,"  said  he.  "  Ah !  poor  little  woman ! 
That  is  a  terrible  affair  of  hers." 

With  a  gesture  he  expressed  his  feelings  concerning  the 
drama  that  had  just  upset  the  Seguins'  household.  Valen- 
tine, like  Marianne,  was  to  become  a  mother.  For  her 
part  she  was  in  despair  at  it,  and  her  husband  had  given 
way  to  jealous  fury.  For  a  time,  amid  all  their  quarrels, 
they  had  continued  leading  their  usual  life  of  pleasure,  but 
she  now  spent  her  days  on  a  couch,  while  he  neglected  her 
and  reverted  to  a  bachelor's  life.  It  was  a  very  painful 
story,  but  the  doctor  was  in  hopes  that  Marianne,  on  the 
occasion  of  her  visit  to  the  Seguins,  might  bring  some  good 
influence  to  bear  on  them. 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  was  about  to  retire,  when  the 
attack  which  had  all  along  threatened  him  burst  forth.  The 
children,  unsuspectedly  rising  from  their  chairs,  had  con- 
certed together  with  a  glance,  and  now  they  opened  their 
campaign.  The  worthy  doctor  all  at  once  found  the  twins 
upon  his  shoulders,  while  the  younger  boy  clasped  him 
round  the  waist  and  the  little  girl  clung  to  his  legs. 

"Puff!  puff!  do  the  railway  train,  do  the  railway  train, 
please  do." 

They  pushed  and  shook  him,  amid  peal  after  peal  of 
flute-like  laughter,  while  their  father  and  mother  rushed  to 
his  assistance,  scolding  and  angry.  But  he  calmed  the 
parents  by  saying :  "  Let  them  be  !  they  are  simply  wishing 


76  FRUITFULNESS 

me  good  day.  And  besides,  I  must  bear  with  them,  you 
know,  since,  as  our  friend  Beauchene  says,  it  is  a  little  bit 
my  fault  if  they  are  in  the  world.  What  charms  me  with 
your  children  is  that  they  enjoy  such  good  health,  just  like 
their  mother.  For  the  present,  at  all  events,  one  can  ask 
nothing  more  of  them." 

When  he  had  set  them  down  on  the  floor,  and  given 
each  a  smacking  kiss,  he  took  hold  of  Marianne's  hands 
and  said  to  her  that  everything  was  going  on  beautifully, 
and  that  he  was  very  pleased.  Then  he  went  off,  escorted 
to  the  front  door  by  Mathieu,  the  pair  of  them  jesting  and 
laughing  gayly. 

Directly  after  the  midday  meal  Mathieu  wished  to  go 
out,  in  order  that  Marianne  might  profit  by  the  bright  sun- 
shine. The  children  had  been  dressed  in  readiness  before 
sitting  down  to  table,  and  it  was  scarcely  more  than  one 
o'clock  when  the  family  turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de 
la  Federation  and  found  itself  upon  the  quays. 

This  portion  of  Crenelle,  lying  between  the  Champ  de 
Mars  and  the  densely  populated  streets  of  the  centre  of  the 
district,  has  an  aspect  all  its  own,  characterized  by  vast  bare 
expanses,  and  long  and  almost  deserted  streets  running  at 
right  angles  and  fringed  by  factories  with  lofty,  interminable 
gray  walls.  During  work-hours  nobody  passes  along  these 
streets,  and  on  raising  one's  head  one  sees  only  lofty  chim- 
neys belching  forth  thick  coal  smoke  above  the  roofs  of  big 
buildings  with  dusty  window  panes.  And  if  any  large  cart 
entrance  happens  to  be  open  one  may  espy  deep  yards 
crowded  with  drays  and  full  of  acrid  vapor.  The  only 
sounds  are  the  strident  puffs  of  jets  of  steam,  the  dull 
rumbling  of  machinery,  and  the  sudden  rattle  of  ironwork 
lowered  from  the  carts  to  the  pavement.  But  on  Sundays 
the  factories  do  not  work,  and  the  district  then  falls  into 
death-like  silence.  In  summer  time  there  is  but  bright  sun- 
shine heating  the  pavement,  in  winter  some  icy  snow-laden 
wind  rushing  down  the  lonely  streets.  The  population  of 
Crenelle  is  said  to  be  the  worst  of  Paris,  both  the  most 
vicious  and  the  most  wretched.  The  neighborhood  of  the 


FRUITFULNESS  77 

Ecole  Militaire  attracts  thither  a  swarm  of  worthless  women, 
who  bring  in  their  train  all  the  scum  of  the  populace.  In 
contrast  co  all  this  the  gay  bourgeois  district  of  Passy  rises  up 
across  the  Seine  ;  while  the  rich  aristocratic  quarters  of  the 
Invalides  and  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  spread  out  close 
by.  Thus  the  Beauchene  works  on  the  quay,  as  their 
owner  laughingly  said,  turned  their  back  upon  misery  and 
looked  towards  all  the  prosperity  and  gayety  of  this  world. 

Mathieu  was  very  partial  to  the  avenues,  planted  with 
fine  trees,  which  radiate  from  the  Champ  de  Mars  and  the 
Esplanade  des  Invalides,  supplying  great  gaps  for  air  and 
sunlight.  But  he  was  particularly  fond  of  that  long  diver- 
sified Quai  d'Orsay,  which  starts  from  the  Rue  du  Bac  in 
the  very  centre  of  the  city,  passes  before  the  Palais  Bour- 
bon, crosses  first  the  Esplanade  des  Invalides,  and  then  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  to  end  at  the  Boulevard  de  Crenelle,  in 
the  black  factory  region.  How  majestically  it  spread  out, 
what  fine  old  leafy  trees  there  were  round  that  bend  of  the 
Seine  from  the  State  Tobacco  Works  to  the  garden  of  the 
Eiffel  Tower!  The  river  winds  along  with  sovereign 
gracefulness  ;  the  avenue  stretches  out  under  superb  foliage. 
You  can  really  saunter  there  amid  delicious  quietude,  instinct 
as  it  were  with  all  the  charm  and  power  of  Paris. 

It  was  thither  that  Mathieu  wished  to  take  his  wife  and 
the  little  ones  that  Sunday.  But  the  distance  was  consider- 
able, and  some  anxiety  was  felt  respecting  Rose's  little  legs. 
She  was  intrusted  to  Ambroise,  who,  although  the  youngest 
of  the  boys,  was  already  energetic  and  determined.  These 
two  opened  the  march ;  then  came  Blaise  and  Denis,  the 
twins,  the  parents  bringing  up  the  rear.  Everything  at  first 
went  remarkably  well :  they  strolled  on  slowly  in  the  gay 
sunshine.  That  beautiful  winter  afternoon  was  exquisitely 
pure  and  clear,  and  though  it  was  very  cold  in  the  shade,  all 
seemed  golden  and  velvety  in  the  stretches  of  bright  light. 
There  were  a  great  many  people  out  of  doors  —  all  the  idle 
folks,  clad  in  their  Sunday  best,  whom  the  faintest  sunshine 
draws  in  crowds  to  the  promenades  of  Paris.  Little  Rose, 
feeling  warm  and  gay,  drew  herself  up  as  if  to  show  the 


78  FRUITFULNESS 

people  that  she  was  a  big  girl.  She  crossed  the  whole  extent 
of  the  Champ  de  Mars  without  asking  to  be  carried.  And 
her  three  brothers  strode  along  making  the  frozen  pavement 
resound  beneath  their  steps.  Promenaders  were  ever  turn- 
ing round  to  watch  them.  In  other  cities  of  Europe  the 
sight  of  a  young  married  couple  preceded  by  four  children 
would  have  excited  no  comment,  but  here  in  Paris  the  spec- 
tacle was  so  unusual  that  remarks  of  astonishment,  sarcasm, 
and  even  compassion  were  exchanged.  Mathieu  and 
Marianne  divined,  even  if  they  did  not  actually  hear,  these 
comments,  but  they  cared  nothing  for  them.  They  bravely 
went  their  way,  smiling  at  one  another,  and  feeling  convinced 
that  the  course  they  had  taken  in  life  was  the  right  one, 
whatever  other  folks  might  think  or  say. 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  they  turned  their  steps  home- 
ward ;  and  Marianne,  feeling  rather  tired,  then  took  a  little 
rest  on  a  sofa  in  the  drawing-room,  where  Zoe  had  previ- 
ously lighted  a  good  fire.  The  children,  quieted  by  fatigue, 
were  sitting  round  a  little  table,  listening  to  a  tale  which 
Denis  read  from  a  story-book,  when  a  visitor  was  announced. 
This  proved  to  be  Constance,  who,  after  driving  out  with 
Maurice,  had  thought  of  calling  to  inquire  after  Marianne, 
whom  she  saw  only  once  or  twice  a  week,  although  the 
little  pavilion  was  merely  separated  by  a  garden  from  the 
large  house  on  the  quay. 

"  Oh  !  are  you  poorly,  my  dear  ? "  she  inquired  as  she 
entered  the  room  and  perceived  Marianne  on  the  sofa. 

"  Oh  !  dear,  no,"  replied  the  other,  "  but  I  have  been  out 
walking  for  the  last  two  hours  and  am  now  taking  some 
rest." 

Mathieu  had  brought  an  armchair  forward  for  his  wife's 
rich,  vain  cousin,  who,  whatever  her  real  feelings,  certainly 
strove  to  appear  amiable.  She  apologized  for  not  being  able 
to  call  more  frequently,  and  explained  what  a  number  of 
duties  she  had  to  discharge  as  mistress  of  her  home.  Mean- 
time Maurice,  clad  in  black  velvet,  hung  round  her  petti- 
coats, gazing  from  a  distance  at  the  other  children,  who  one 
and  all  returned  his  scrutiny. 


FRUITFULNESS  79 

"  Well,  Maurice,"  exclaimed  his  mother,  "  don't  you 
wish  your  little  cousins  good-day  ?  " 

He  had  to  do  as  he  was  bidden  and  step  towards  them. 
But  all  five  remained  embarrassed.  They  seldom  met,  and 
had  as  yet  had  no  opportunity  to  quarrel.  The  four  little 
savages  of  Chantebled  felt  indeed  almost  out  of  their  ele- 
ment in  the  presence  of  this  young  Parisian  with  bourgeois 
manners. 

"  And  are  all  your  little  folks  quite  well  ?  "  resumed  Con- 
stance, who,  with  her  sharp  eyes,  was  comparing  her  son 
with  the  other  lads.  "  Ambroise  has  grown ;  his  elder 
brothers  also  look  very  strong." 

Her  examination  did  not  apparently  result  to  Maurice's 
advantage.  The  latter  was  tall  and  looked  sturdy,  but  he 
had  quite  a  waxen  complexion.  Nevertheless,  the  glance 
that  Constance  gave  the  others  was  full  of  irony,  dis- 
dain, and  condemnation.  When  she  had  first  heard  that 
Marianne  was  likely  to  become  a  mother  once  more  she  had 
made  no  secret  of  her  disapproval.  She  held  to  her  old 
opinions  more  vigorously  than  ever. 

Marianne,  knowing  full  well  that  they  would  fall  out  if 
they  discussed  the  subject  of  children,  sought  another  topic 
of  conversation.  She  inquired  after  Beauchene.  "  And 
Alexandre,"  said  she,  "  why  did  you  not  bring  him  with 
you  ?  I  haven't  seen  him  for  a  week  !  " 

"Why,"  broke  in  Mathieu,  "  I  told  you  he  had  gone 
shooting  yesterday  evening.  He  slept,  no  doubt,  at  Puy- 
moreau,  the  other  side  of  Chantebled,  so  as  to  be  in  the 
woods  at  daybreak  this  morning,  and  he  probably  won't  be 
home  till  to-morrow." 

"  Ah  !  yes,  I  remember  now.  Well,  it's  nice  weather 
to  be  in  the  woods." 

This,  however,  was  another  perilous  subject,  and  Mari- 
anne regretted  having  broached  it,  for,  truth  to  tell,  one 
never  knew  where  Beauchene  might  really  be  when  he 
claimed  to  have  gone  shooting.  He  availed  himself  so 
often  of  this  pretext  to  absent  himself  from  home  that 
Constance  was  doubtless  aware  of  the  truth.  But  in  the 


8o  FRUITFULNESS 

presence  of  that  household,  whose  union  was  so  perfect, 
she  was  determined  to  show  a  brave  front. 

"Well,  you  know,"  said  she,  "it  is  I  who  compel  him 
to  go  about  and  take  as  much  exercise  as  possible.  He 
has  a  temperament  that  needs  the  open  air.  Shooting  is 
very  good  for  him." 

At  this  same  moment  there  came  another  ring  at  the 
door,  announcing  another  visitor.  And  this  time  it  was 
Madame  Morange  who  entered  the  room,  with  her  daughter 
Reine.  She  colored  when  she  caught  sight  of  Madame 
Beauchene,  so  keenly  was  she  impressed  by  that  perfect 
model  of  wealth  and  distinction,  whom  she  ever  strove  to 
imitate.  Constance,  however,  profited  by  the  diversion  of 
Valerie's  arrival  to  declare  that  she  unfortunately  could  not 
remain  any  longer,  as  a  friend  must  now  be  waiting  for  her 
at  home. 

41  Well,  at  all  events,  leave  us  Maurice,"  suggested 
Mathieu.  "  Here's  Reine  here  now,  and  all  six  children 
can  play  a  little  while  together.  I  will  bring  you  the  boy 
by  and  by,  when  he  has  had  a  little  snack." 

But  Maurice  had  already  once  more  sought  refuge  among 
his  mother's  skirts.  And  she  refused  the  invitation.  "  Oh  ! 
no,  no  !  "  said  she.  "  He  has  to  keep  to  a  certain  diet, 
you  know,  and  he  must  not  eat  anything  away  from  home. 
Good-by  ;  I  must  be  off.  I  called  only  to  inquire  after 
you  all  in  passing.  Keep  well ;  good-by." 

Then  she  led  her  boy  away,  never  speaking  to  Valerie, 
but  simply  shaking  hands  with  her  in  a  familiar,  protecting 
fashion,  which  the  other  considered  to  be  extremely  distin- 
guished. Reine,  on  her  side,  had  smiled  at  Maurice,  whom 
she  already  slightly  knew.  She  looked  delightful  that  day 
in  her  gown  of  thick  blue  cloth,  her  face  smiling  under  her 
heavy  black  tresses,  and  showing  such  a  likeness  to  her 
mother  that  she  seemed  to  be  the  latter's  younger  sister. 

Marianne,  quite  charmed,  called  the  girl  to  her  :  "  Come 
and  kiss  me,  my  dear !  Oh  !  what  a  pretty  young  lady  ! 
Why,  she  is  getting  quite  beautiful  and  tall.  How  old  is 
she  ?  " 


FRUITFULNESS  81 

"  Nearly  thirteen,"  Valerie  replied. 

She  had  seated  herself  in  the  armchair  vacated  by  Con- 
stance, and  Mathieu  noticed  what  a  keen  expression  of 
anxiety  there  was  in  her  soft  eyes.  After  mentioning  that 
she  also  had  called  in  passing  to  make  inquiries,  and  declar- 
ing that  both  mother  and  children  looked  remarkably  well, 
she  relapsed  into  gloomy  silence,  scarcely  listening  to  Mari- 
anne, who  thanked  her  for  having  come.  Thereupon  it 
occurred  to  Mathieu  to  leave  her  with  his  wife.  To  him 
it  seemed  that  she  must  have  something  on  her  mind,  and 
perhaps  she  wished  to  make  a  confidante  of  Marianne. 

"  My  dear  Reine,"  said  he,  "  come  with  these  little  ones 
into  the  dining-room.  We  will  see  what  afternoon  snack 
there  is,  and  lay  the  cloth." 

This  proposal  was  greeted  with  shouts  of  delight,  and  all 
the  children  trooped  into  the  dining-room  with  Mathieu. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  when  everything  was  ready 
there,  and  Valerie  came  in,  the  latter's  eyes  looked  very 
red,  as  if  she  had  been  weeping.  And  that  evening,  when 
Mathieu  was  alone  with  his  wife,  he  learnt  what  the  trouble 
was.  Morange's  scheme  of  leaving  the  Beauchene  works 
and  entering  the  service  of  the  Credit  National,  where  he 
would  speedily  rise  to  a  high  and  lucrative  position,  his 
hope  too  of  giving  Reine  a  big  dowry  and  marrying  her  off 
to  advantage  —  all  the  ambitious  dreams  of  rank  and  wealth 
in  which  his  wife  and  he  had  indulged,  now  showed  no  like- 
lihood of  fulfilment,  since  it  seemed  probable  that  Valerie 
might  again  have  a  child.  Both  she  and  her  husband  were 
in  despair  over  it,  and  though  Marianne  had  done  her 
utmost  to  pacify  her  friend  and  reconcile  her  to  circum- 
.  stances,  there  were  reasons  to  fear  that  in  her  distracted 
condition  she  might  do  something  desperate. 

Four  days  later,  when  the  Froments  lunched  with  the 
Seguins  du  Hordel  at  the  luxurious  mansion  in  the  Avenue 
d'Antin,  they  came  upon  similar  trouble  there.  Seguin, 
who  was  positively  enraged,  did  not  scruple  to  accuse  his 
wife  of  infidelity,  and,  on  his  side,  he  took  to  quite  a  bache- 
lor life.  He  had  been  a  gambler  in  his  younger  days,  and 


82  FRUITFULNESS 

had  never  fully  cured  himself  of  that  passion,  which  now 
broke  out  afresh,  like  a  fire  which  has  only  slumbered  for  a 
time.  He  spent  night  after  night  at  his  club,  playing  at 
baccarat,  and  could  be  met  in  the  betting  ring  at  every  race 
meeting.  Then,  too,  he  glided  into  equivocal  society  and 
appeared  at  home  only  at  intervals  to  vent  his  irritation  and 
spite  and  jealousy  upon  his  ailing  wife. 

She,  poor  woman,  was  absolutely  guiltless  of  the  charges 
preferred  against  her.  But  knowing  her  husband,  and  un- 
willing for  her  own  part  to  give  up  her  life  of  pleasure,  she 
had  practised  concealment  as  long  as  possible.  And  now 
she  was  really  very  ill,  haunted  too  by  an  unreasoning,  irre- 
movable fear  that  it  would  all  end  in  her  death.  Mathieu, 
who  had  seen  her  but  a  few  months  previously  looking 
so  fair  and  fresh,  was  amazed  to  find  her  such  a  wreck. 
And  on  her  side  Valentine  gazed,  all  astonishment,  at 
Marianne,  noticing  with  surprise  how  calm  and  strong  the 
young  woman  seemed,  and  how  limpid  her  clear  and  smil- 
ing eyes  remained. 

On  the  day  of  the  Froments'  visit  Seguin  had  gone  out 
early  in  the  morning,  and  when  they  arrived  he  had  not  yet 
returned.  Thus  the  lunch  was  for  a  short  time  kept  wait- 
ing, and  during  the  interval  Celeste,  the  maid,  entered  the 
room  where  the  visitors  sat  near  her  mistress,  who  was 
stretched  upon  a  sofa,  looking  a  perfect  picture  of  distress. 
Valentine  turned  a  questioning  glance  on  the  servant,  who 
forthwith  replied  : 

"  No,  madame,  Monsieur  has  not  come  back  yet.  But 
that  woman  of  my  village  is  here.  You  know,  madame,  the 
woman  I  spoke  to  you  about,  Sophie  Couteau,  La  Couteau 
as  we  call  her  at  Rougemont,  who  brings  nurses  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Valentine,  on  the  point 
of  ordering  Celeste  to  leave  the  room,  for  it  seemed  to  her 
quite  outrageous  to  be  disturbed  in  this  manner. 

"  Well,  madame,  she's  here ;  and  as  I  told  you  before,  if 
you  would  intrust  her  with  the  matter  now  she  would  find 
a  very  good  wet  nurse  for  you  in  the  country,  and  bring  her 
here  whenever  she's  wanted." 


FRUITFULNESS  83 

La  Couteau  had  been  standing  behind  the  door,  which 
had  remained  ajar,  and  scarcely. had  Celeste  finished  than, 
without  waiting  for  an  invitation,  she  boldly  entered  the 
room.  She  was  a  quick  little  wizened  woman,  with  certain 
peasant  ways,  but  considerably  polished  by  her  frequent 
journeys  to  Paris.  So  far  as  her  small  keen  eyes  and  pointed 
nose  went  her  long  face  was  not  unpleasant,  but  its  expres- 
sion of  good  nature  was  marred  by  her  hard  mouth,  her  thin 
lips,  suggestive  of  artfulness  and  cupidity.  Her  gown  of 
dark  woollen  stuff,  her  black  cape,  black  mittens,  and  black 
cap  with  yellow  ribbons,  gave  her  the  appearance  of  a  re- 
spectable countrywoman  going  to  mass  in  her  Sunday  best. 

"  Have  you  been  a  nurse  ?  "  Valentine  inquired,  as  she 
scrutinized  her. 

"  Yes,  madame,"  replied  La  Couteau,  "  but  that  was  ten 
years  ago,  when  I  was  only  twenty.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
I  wasn't  likely  to  make  much  money  by  remaining  a  nurse, 
and  so  I  preferred  to  set  up  as  an  agent  to  bring  others  to 
Paris." 

As  she  spoke  she  smiled,  like  an  intelligent  woman  who 
feels  that  those  who  give  their  services  as  wet  nurses  to 
bourgeois  families  are  simply  fools  and  dupes.  However, 
she  feared  that  she  might  have  said  too  much  on  the  point, 
and  so  she  added  :  "  But  one  does  what  one  can,  eh,  ma- 
dame  ?  The  doctor  told  me  that  I  should  never  do  for  a 
nurse  again,  and  so  I  thought  that  I  might  perhaps  help  the 
poor  little  dears  in  another  manner." 

"  And  you  bring  wet  nurses  to  the  Paris  offices  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,  twice  a  month.  I  supply  several  offices, 
but  more  particularly  Madame  Broquette's  office  in  the  Rue 
Roquepine.  It's  a  very  respectable  place,  where  one  runs 
no  risk  of  being  deceived —  And  so,  if  you  like,  madame, 
I  will  choose  the  very  best  I  can  find  for  you  —  the  pick 
of  the  bunch,  so  to  say.  I  know  the  business  thoroughly, 
and  you  can  rely  on  me." 

As  her  mistress  did  not  immediately  reply,  Celeste  ven- 
tured to  intervene,  and  began  by  explaining  how  it  hap- 
pened that  La  Couteau  had  called  that  day. 


84  FRUITFULNESS 

"  When  she  goes  back  into  the  country,  madame,  she 
almost  always  takes  a  baby  with  her,  sometimes  a  nurse's 
child,  and  sometimes  the  child  of  people  who  are  not  well 
enough  off  to  keep  a  nurse  in  the  house.  And  she  takes 
these  children  to  some  of  the  rearers  in  the  country.  She 
just  now  came  to  see  me  before  going  round  to  my  friend 
Madame  Menoux,  whose  baby  she  is  to  take  away  with 
her." 

Valentine  became  interested.  This  Madame  Menoux 
was  a  haberdasher  in  the  neighborhood  and  a  great  friend 
of  Celeste's.  She  had  married  a  former  soldier,  a  tall 
handsome  fellow,  who  now  earned  a  hundred  and  fifty 
francs  a  month  as  an  attendant  at  a  museum.  She  was 
very  fond  of  him,  and  had  bravely  set'  up  a  little  shop,  the 
profits  from  which  doubled  their  income,  in  such  wise  that 
they  lived  very  happily  and  almost  at  their  ease.  Celeste, 
who  frequently  absented  herself  from  her  duties  to  spend 
hours  gossiping  in  Madame  Menoux's  little  shop,  was  for- 
ever being  scolded  for  this  practice ;  but  in  the  present 
instance  Valentine,  full  of  anxiety  and  curiosity,  did  not 
chide  her.  The  maid  was  quite  proud  at  being  questioned, 
and  informed  her  mistress  that  Madame  Menoux's  baby 
was  a  fine  little  boy,  and  that  the  mother  had  been  attended 
by  a  certain  Madame  Rouche,  who  lived  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  Rue  du  Rocher. 

"  It  was  I  who  recommended  her,"  continued  the  servant, 
"  for  a  friend  of  mine  whom  she  had  attended  had  spoken 
to  me  very  highly  of  her.  No  doubt  she  has  not  such  a 
good  position  as  Madame  Bourdieu,  who  has  so  handsome 
a  place  in  the  Rue  de  Miromesnil,  but  she  is  less  expensive, 
and  so  very  kind  and  obliging." 

Then  Celeste  suddenly  ceased  speaking,  for  she  noticed 
that  Mathieu's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her,  and  this,  for 
reasons  best  known  to  herself,  made  her  feel  uncomfortable. 
He  on  his  side  certainly  placed  no  confidence  in  this  big 
dark  girl  with  a  head  like  that  of  a  horse,  who,  it  seemed 
to  him,  knew  far  too  much. 

Marianne  joined    in    the    conversation.      "  But  why," 


FRUITFULNESS  85 

asked  she,  "  why  does  not  this  Madame  Menoux,  whom 
you  speak  about,  keep  her  baby  with  her  ?  " 

Thereupon  La  Couteau  turned  a  dark  harsh  glance  upon 
this  lady  visitor,  who,  whatever  course  she  might  take 
herself,  had  certainly  no  right  to  prevent  others  from  doing 
business. 

"  Oh  !  it's  impossible,"  exclaimed  Celeste,  well  pleased 
with  the  diversion.  u  Madame  Menoux's  shop  is  no  bigger 
than  my  pocket-handkerchief,  and  at  the  back  of  it  there  is 
only  one  little  room  where  she  and  her  husband  take  their 
meals  and  sleep.  And  that  room,  too,  overlooks  a  tiny 
courtyard  where  one  can  neither  see  nor  breathe.  The 
baby  would  not  live  a  week  in  such  a  place.  And,  besides, 
Madame  Menoux  would  not  have  time  to  attend  to  the 
child.  She  has  never  had  a  servant,  and  what  with  waiting 
on  customers  and  having  to  cook  meals  in  time  for  her 
husband's  return  from  the  museum,  she  never  has  a  moment 
to  spare.  Oh  !  if  she  could,  she  would  be  very  happy  to 
keep  the  little  fellow  with  her." 

41  It  is  true,"  said  Marianne  sadly  ;  "  there  are  some  poor 
mothers  whom  I  pity  with  all  my  heart.  This  person  you 
speak  of  is  not  in  poverty,  and  yet  is  reduced  to  this  cruel 
separation.  For  my  part,  I  should  not  be  able  to  exist  if 
a  child  of  mine  were  taken  away  from  me  to  some  unknown 
spot  and  given  to  another  woman." 

La  Couteau  doubtless  interpreted  this  as  an  attack  upon 
herself.  Assuming  the  kindly  demeanor  of  one  who  dotes 
on  children,  the  air  which  she  always  put  on  to  prevail 
over  hesitating  mothers,  she  replied  :  u  Oh,  Rougemont  is 
such  a  very  pretty  place.  And  then  it's  not  far  from 
Bayeux,  so  that  folks  are  by  no  means  savages  there.  The 
air  is  so  pure,  too,  that  people  come  there  to  recruit  their 
health.  And,  besides,  the  little  ones  who  are  confided  to 
us  are  well  cared  for,  I  assure  you.  One  would  have  to 
be  heartless  to  do  otherwise  than  love  such  little  angels." 

However,  like  Celeste,  she  relapsed  into  silence  on  seeing 
how  significantly  Mathieu  was  looking  at  her.  Perhaps, 
in  spite  of  her  rustic  ways,  she  understood  that  there  was  a 


86  FRUITFULNESS 

false  ring  in  her  voice.  Besides,  of  what  use  was  her 
usual  patter  about  the  salubrity  of  the  region,  since  that 
lady,  Madame  Seguin,  wished  to  have  a  nurse  at  her  house? 
So  she  resumed  :  "  Then  it's  understood,  madame,  I  will 
bring  you  the  best  we  have,  a  real  treasure." 

Valentine,  now  a  little  tranquillized  as  to  her  fears  for 
herself,  found  strength  to  speak  out :  "  No,  no,  I  won't 
pledge  myself  in  advance.  I  will  send  to  see  the  nurses 
you  bring  to  the  office,  and  we  shall  see  if  there  is  one  to 
suit  me." 

Then,  without  occupying  herself  further  about  the  woman, 
she  turned  to  Marianne,  and  asked  :  "  Shall  you  nurse  your 
baby  yourself?  " 

"  Certainly,  as  I  did  with  the  others.  We  have  very 
decided  opinions  on  that  point,  my  husband  and  I." 

"  No  doubt.  I  understand  you  :  I  should  much  like  to 
do  the  same  myself;  but  it  is  impossible." 

La  Couteau  had  remained  there  motionless,  vexed  at 
having  come  on  a  fruitless  errand,  and  regretting  the  loss 
of  the  present  which  she  would  have  earned  by  her  obliging- 
ness in  providing  a  nurse.  She  put  all  her  spite  into  a 
glance  which  she  shot  at  Marianne,  who,  thought  she,  was 
evidently  some  poor  creature  unable  even  to  afford  a  nurse. 
However,  at  a  sign  which  Celeste  made  her,  she  courtesied 
humbly  and  withdrew  in  the  company  of  the  maid. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  Seguin  arrived,  and,  repairing 
to  the  dining-room,  they  all  sat  down  to  lunch  there.  It 
was  a  very  luxurious  meal,  comprising  eggs,  red  mullet, 
game,  and  crawfish,  with  red  and  white  Bordeaux  wines  and 
iced  champagne.  Such  diet  for  Valentine  and  Marianne 
would  never  have  met  with  Dr.  Boutan's  approval ;  but 
Seguin  declared  the  doctor  to  be  an  unbearable  individual 
whom  nobody  could  ever  please. 

He,  Seguin,  while  showing  all  politeness  to  his  guests, 
seemed  that  day  to  be  in  an  execrable  temper.  Again  and 
again  he  levelled  annoying  and  even  galling  remarks  at  his 
wife>  carrying  things  to  such  a  point  at  times  that  tears  came 
to  the  unfortunate  woman's  eyes.  Now  that  he  scarcely  set 


FRUITFULNESS  87 

foot  in  the  house  he  complained  that  everything  was  going 
wrong  there.  If  he  spent  his  time  elsewhere  it  was,  accord- 
ing to  him,  entirely  his  wife's  fault.  The  place  was  becom- 
ing a  perfect  hell  upon  earth.  And  in  everything,  the 
slightest  incident,  the  most  common-place  remark,  he  found 
an  opportunity  for  jeers  and  gibes*  These  made  Mathieu 
and  Marianne  extremely  uncomfortable ;  but  at  last  he  let 
fall  such  a  harsh  expression  that  Valentine  indignantly 
rebelled,  and  he  had  to  apologize*  At  heart  he  feared  her, 
especially  when  the  blood  of  the  Vaugelades  arose  within 
her,  and  she  gave  him  to  understand,  in  her  haughty  dis- 
dainful way,  that  she  would  some  day  revenge  herself  on 
him  for  his  treatment. 

However,  seeking  another  outlet  for  his  spite  and  ran- 
cor, he  at  last  turned  to  Mathieu,  and  spoke  of  Chantebled, 
saying  bitterly  that  the  game  in  the  covers  there  was  fast 
becoming  scarcer  and  scarcer,  in  such  wise  that  he  now  had 
difficulty  in  selling  his  shooting  shares,  so  that  his  income 
from  the  property  was  dwindling  every  year.  He  made  no 
secret  of  the  fact  that  he  would  much  like  to  sell  the  estate, 
but  where  could  he  possibly  find  a  purchaser  for  those 
unproductive  woods,  those  sterile  plains,  those  marshes  and 
those  tracts  of  gravel  ? 

Mathieu  listened  to  all  this  attentively,  for  during  his 
long  walks  in  the  summer  he  had  begun  to  take  an  interest 
in  the  estate.  "Are  you  really  of  opinion  that  it  cannot  be 
cultivated  ? "  he  asked.  "  It's  pitiful  to  see  all  that  land 
lying  waste  and  idle." 

"  Cultivate  it !  "  cried  Seguin.  "  Ah  !  I  should  like  to 
see  such  a  miracle !  The  only  crops  that  one  will  ever 
raise  on  it  are  stones  and  frogs." 

They  had  by  this  time  eaten  their  dessert,  and  before 
rising  from  table  Marianne  was  telling  Valentine  that  she 
would  much  like  to  see  and  kiss  her  children,  who  had  not 
been  allowed  to  lunch  with  their  elders  on  account  of  their 
supposed  unruly  ways,  when  a  couple  of  visitors  arrived  in 
turn,  and  everything  else  was  forgotten.  One  was  Santerre 
the  novelist,  who  of  late  had  seldom  called  on  the  Seguins, 


88  FRUITFULNESS 

and  the  other,  much  to  Mathieu's  dislike,  proved  to  be 
Beauchene's  sister,  Seraphine,  the  Baroness  de  Lowicz. 
She  looked  at  the  young  man  in  a  bold,  provoking,  signifi- 
cant manner,  and  then,  like  Santerre,  cast  a  sly  glance  of 
mocking  contempt  at  Marianne  and  Valentine.  She  and 
the  novelist  between  them  soon  turned  the  conversation  on 
to  subjects  that  appealed  to  their  vicious  tastes.  And  San- 
terre related  that  he  had  lately  seen  Doctor  Gaude  perform 
several  operations  at  the  Marbeuf  Hospital.  He  had  found 
there  the  usual  set  of  society  men  who  attend  first  perform- 
ances at  the  theatres,  and  indeed  there  were  also  some 
women  present. 

And  then  he  enlarged  upon  the  subject,  giving  the  crudest 
and  most  precise  particulars,  much  to  the  delight  of  Seguin, 
who  every  now  and  again  interpolated  remarks  of  approval, 
while  both  Mathieu  and  Marianne  grew  more  and  more  ill 
at  ease.  The  young  woman  sat  looking  with  amazement 
at  Santerre  as  he  calmly  recapitulated  horror  after  horror,  to 
the  evident  enjoyment  of  the  others.  She  remembered  hav- 
ing read  his  last  book,  that  love  story  which  had  seemed  to 
her  so  supremely  absurd,  with  its  theories  of  the  annihilation 
of  the  human  species.  And  she  at  last  glanced  at  Mathieu 
to  tell  him  how  weary  she  felt  of  all  the  semi-society  and 
semi-medical  chatter  around  her,  and  how  much  she  would 
like  to  go  off  home,  leaning  on  his  arm,  and  walking  slowly 
along  the  sunlit  quays.  He,  for  his  part,  felt  a  pang  at  see- 
ing so  much  insanity  rife  amid  those  wealthy  surroundings. 
He  made  his  wife  a  sign  that  it  was  indeed  time  to  take 
leave. 

"What!  are  you  going  already!"  Valentine  then  ex- 
claimed. "  Well,  I  dare  not  detain  you  if  you  feel  tired." 
However,  when  Marianne  begged  her  to  kiss  the  children 
for  her,  she  added  :  "  Why,  yes,  it's  true  you  have  not  seen 
them.  Wait  a  moment,  pray ;  I  want  you  to  kiss  them 
yourself." 

But  when  Celeste  appeared  in  answer  to  the  bell,  she 
announced  that  Monsieur  Gaston  and  Mademoiselle  Lucie 
had  gone  out  with  their  governess.  And  this  made  Seguin 


FRUITFULNESS  89 

explode  once  more.  All  his  rancor  against  his  wife  revived. 
The  house  was  going  to  rack  and  ruin.  She  spent  her  days 
lying  on  a  sofa.  Since  when  had  the  governess  taken  leave 
to  go  out  with  the  children  without  saying  anything  ?  One 
could  not  even  see  the  children  now  in  order  to  kiss  them. 
It  was  a  nice  state  of  things.  They  were  left  to  the 
servants  ;  in  fact,  it  was  the  servants  now  who  controlled 
the  house. 

Thereupon  Valentine  began  to  cry. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  said  Marianne  to  her  husband,  when  she 
found  herself  out  of  doors,  able  to  breathe,  and  happy  once 
more  now  that  she  was  leaning  on  his  arm  ;  "  why,  they  are 
quite  mad,  the  people  in  that  house." 

"  Yes,"  Mathieu  responded,  "  they  are  mad,  no  doubt ; 
but  we  must  pity  them,  for  they  know  not  what  happi- 
ness is." 


VI 

ABOUT  nine  o'clock  one  fine  cold  morning,  a  few  days 
afterwards,  as  Mathieu,  bound  for  his  office,  a  little  late 
through  having  lingered  near  his  wife,  was  striding  hastily 
across  the  garden  which  separated  the  pavilion  from  the 
factory  yard,  he  met  Constance  and  Maurice,  who,  clad  in 
furs,  were  going  out  for  a  walk  in  the  sharp  air.  Beauchene, 
who  was  accompanying  them  as  far  as  the  gate,  bareheaded 
and  ever  sturdy  and  victorious,  gayly  exclaimed  to  his 
wife: 

"  Give  the  youngster  a  good  spin  on  his  legs  !  Let  him 
take  in  all  the  fresh  air  he  can.  There's  nothing  like  that 
and  good  food  to  make  a  man." 

Mathieu,  on  hearing  this,  stopped  short.  "  Has  Maurice 
been  poorly  again  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  hastily  replied  the  boy's  mother,  with  an 
appearance  of  great  gayety,  assumed  perhaps  from  an  un- 
conscious desire  to  hide  certain  covert  fears.  "  Only  the 
doctor  wants  him  to  take  exercise,  and  it  is  so  fine  this 
morning  that  we  are  going  off  on  quite  an  expedition." 

"  Don't  go  along  the  quays,"  said  Beauchene  again. 
"Go  up  towards  the  Invalides.  He'll  have  much  stiffer 
marching  to  do  when  he's  a  soldier." 

Then,  jthe  mother  and  the  child  having  taken  themselves 
off,  he  went  back  into  the  works  with  Mathieu,  adding  in 
his  triumphant  way :  "  That  youngster,  you  know,  is  as 
strong  as  an  oak.  But  women  are  always  so  nervous. 
For  my  part,  I'm  quite  easy  in  mind  about  him,  as  you  can 
see."  And  with  a  laugh  he  concluded  :  "  When  one  has 
but  one  son,  he  keeps  him." 

That  same  day,  about  an  hour  later,  a  terrible  dispute 

90 


FRUITFULNESS  91 

which  broke  out  between  old  Moineaud's  daughters,  Norine 
and  Euphrasie,  threw  the  factory  into  a  state  of  commotion. 
Norine's  intrigue  with  Beauchene  had  ended  in  the  usual 
way.  He  had  soon  tired  of  the  girl  and  betaken  himself  to 
some  other  passing  fancy,  leaving  her  to  her  tears,  her 
shame,  and  all  the  consequences  of  her  fault ;  for  although 
it  had  hitherto  been  possible  for  her  to  conceal  her  condi- 
tion from  her  parents,  she  was  unable  to  deceive  her  sister, 
who  was  her  constant  companion.  The  two  girls  were 
always  bickering,  and  Norine  had  for  some  time  lived  in 
dread  of  scandal  and  exposure.  And  that  day  the  trouble 
came  to  a  climax,  beginning  with  a  trivial  dispute  about  a 
bit  of  glass-paper  in  the  workroom,  then  developing  into  a 
furious  exchange  of  coarse,  insulting  language,  and  cul- 
minating in  a  frantic  outburst  from  Euphrasie,  who 
shrieked  to  the  assembled  work-girls  all  that  she  knew 
about  her  sister. 

There  was  an  outrageous  scene :  the  sisters  fought, 
clawing  and  scratching  one  another  desperately,  and  could 
not  be  separated  until  Beauchene,  Mathieu,  and  Morange, 
attracted  by  the  extraordinary  uproar,  rushed  into  the  work- 
room and  restored  a  little  order.  Fortunately  for  Beauchene, 
Euphrasie  did  not  know  the  whole  truth,  and  Norine,  after 
giving  her  employer  a  humble,  supplicating  glance,  kept 
silence;  but  old  Moineaud  was  present,  and  the  public 
revelation  of  his  daughter's  shame  sent  him  into  a  fury. 
He  ordered  Norine  out  of  the  works  forthwith,  and 
threatened  to  throw  her  out  of  window  should  he  find 
her  at  home  when  he  returned  there  in  the  evening.  And 
Beauchene,  both  annoyed  at  the  scandal  and  ashamed  at 
being  the  primary  cause  of  it,  did  not  venture  to«interfere. 
It  was  only  after  the  unhappy  Norine  had  rushed  oft'  sob- 
bing that  he  found  strength  of  mind  to  attempt  to  pacify 
the  father,  and  assert  his  authority  in  the  workroom  by 
threatening  to  dismiss  one  and  all  of  the  girls  if  the  slightest 
scandal,  the  slightest  noise,  should  ever  occur  there  again. 

Mathieu  was  deeply  pained  by  the  scene,  but  kept  his 
own  counsel.  What  most  astonished  him  was  the  prompt- 


92  FRUITFULNESS 

ness  with  which  Beauchene  regained  his  self-possession  as 
soon  as  Norine  had  fled,  and  the  majesty  with  which  he 
withdrew  to  his  office  after  threatening  the  others  and 
restoring  order.  Another  whom  the  scene  had  painfully 
affected  was  Morange,  whom  Mathieu,  to  his  surprise, 
found  ghastly  pale,  with  trembling  hands,  as  if  indeed  he 
had  had  some  share  of  responsibility  in  this  unhappy  busi- 
ness. But  Morange,  as  he  confided  to  Mathieu,  was  dis- 
tressed for  other  reasons.  The  scene  in  the  workroom, 
the  revelation  of  Norine's  condition,  the  fate  awaiting  the 
girl  driven  away  into  the  bleak,  icy  streets,  had  revived  all 
his  own  poignant  worries  with  respect  to  Valerie.  Mathieu 
had  already  heard  of  the  latter's  trouble  from  his  wife,  and 
he  speedily  grasped  the  accountant's  meaning.  It  vaguely 
seemed  to  him  also  that  Morange  was  yielding  to  the  same 
unreasoning  despair  as  Valerie,  and  was  almost  willing  that 
she  should  take  the  desperate  course  which  she  had  hinted 
to  Marianne.  But  it  was  a  very  serious  matter,  and 
Mathieu  did  not  wish  to  be  in  any  way  mixed  up  in  it. 
Having  tried  his  best  to  pacify  the  cashier,  he  sought 
forgetfulness  of  these  painful  incidents  in  his  work. 

That  afternoon,  however,  a  little  girl,  Cecile  Moineaud, 
the  old  fitter's  youngest  daughter,  slipped  into  his  office, 
with  a  message  from  her  mother,  beseeching  him  to  speak 
with  her.  He  readily  understood  that  the  woman  wished 
to  see  him  respecting  Norine,  and  in  his  usual  compas- 
sionate way  he  consented  to  go.  The  interview  took  place 
in  one  of  the  adjacent  streets,  down  which  the  cold  winter 
wind  was  blowing.  La  Moineaude  was  there  with  Norine 
and  another  little  girl  of  hers,  Irma,  a  child  eight  years  of 
age.  Both  Norine  and  her  mother  wept  abundantly  while 
begging  Mathieu  to  help  them.  He  alone  knew  the  whole 
truth,  and  was  in  a  position  to  approach  Beauchene  on  the 
subject.  La  Moineaude  was  firmly  determined  to  say 
nothing  to  her  husband.  She  trembled  for  his  future  and 
that  of  her  son  Alfred,  who  was  now  employed  at  the 
works ;  for  there  was  no  telling  what  might  happen  if 
Beauchene's  name  should  be  mentioned.  Life  was  indeed 


FRUITFULNESS  93 

hard  enough  already,  and  what  would  become  of  them  all 
should  the  family  bread-winners  be  turned  away  from  the 
factory  ?  Norine  certainly  had  no  legal  claim  on  Beau- 
chene, the  law  being  peremptory  on  that  point ;  but,  now 
that  she  had  lost  her  employment,  and  was  driven  from 
home  by  her  father,  could  he  leave  her  to  die  of  want  in 
the  streets  ?  The  girl  tried  to  enforce  her  moral  claim  by 
asserting  that  she  had  always  been  virtuous  before  meeting 
Beauchene.  In  any  case,  her  lot  remained  a  very  hard 
one.  That  Beauchene  was  the  father  of  her  child  there 
could  be  no  doubt ;  and  at  last  Mathieu,  without  promising 
success,  told  the  mother  that  he  would  do  all  he  could  in 
the  matter. 

He  kept  his  word  that  same  afternoon,  and  after  a  great 
deal  of  difficulty  he  succeeded.  At  first  Beauchene  fumed, 
stormed,  denied,  equivocated,  almost  blamed  Mathieu  for 
interfering,  talked  too  of  blackmail,  and  put  on  all  sorts  of 
high  and  mighty  airs.  But  at  heart  the  matter  greatly 
worried  him.  What  if  Norine  or  her  mother  should  go  to 
his  wife  ?  Constance  might  close  her  eyes  as  long  as  she 
simply  suspected  things,  but  if  complaints  were  formally, 
openly  made  to  her,  there  would  be  a  terrible  scandal.  On 
the  other  hand,  however,  should  he  do  anything  for  the 
girl,  it  would  become  known,  and  everybody  would  regard 
him  as  responsible.  And  then  there  would  be  no  end  to 
what  he  called  the  blackmailing. 

However,  when  Beauchene  reached  this  stage  Mathieu 
felt  that  the  battle  was  gained.  He  smiled  and  answered  : 
"Of  course,  one  can  never  tell  —  the  girl  is  certainly  not 
malicious.  But  when  women  are  driven  beyond  endurance, 
they  become  capable  of  the  worst  follies.  I  must  say  that 
she  made  no  demands  of  me ;  she  did  not  even  explain 
what  she  wanted  ;  she  simply  said  that  she  could  not  remain 
in  the  streets  in  this  bleak  weather,  since  her  father  had 
turned  her  away  from  home.  If  you  want  my  opinion,  it 
is  this  :  I  think  that  one  might  at  once  put  her  to  board  at 
a  proper  place.  Let  us  say  that  four  or  five  months  will 
elapse  before  she  is  able  to  work  again  ;  that  would  mean  a 


94  FRUITFULNESS 

round  sum  of  five  hundred  francs  in  expenses.  At  that 
cost  she  might  be  properly  looked  after." 

Beauchene  walked  nervously  up  and  down,  and  then 
replied  :  "  Well,  I  haven't  a  bad  heart,  as  you  know.  Five 
hundred  francs  more  or  less  will  not  inconvenience  me. 
Jf  I  flew  into  a  temper  just  now  it  was  because  the  mere 
idea  of  being  robbed  and  imposed  upon  puts  me  beside 
myself,  But  if  it's  a  question  of  charity,  why,  then,  do  as 
you  suggest.  It  must  be  understood,  however,  that  I  won't 
mix  myself  up  in  anything ;  I  wish  even  to  remain  ignorant 
of  what  you  do.  Choose  a  nurse,  place  the  girl  where  you 
please,  and  I  will  simply  pay  the  bill.  Neither  more  nor 
less." 

Then  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the  prospect  of  being 
extricated  from  this  equivocal  position,  the  worry  of  which 
he  refused  to  acknowledge.  And  once  more  he  put  on  the 
mien  of  a  superior,  victorious  man,  one  who  is  certain  that 
he  will  win  all  the  battles  of  life.  In  fact,  he  even  jested 
about  the  girl,  and  at  last  went  off  repeating  his  instruc- 
tions :  "  See  that  my  conditions  are  fully  understood.  I 
don't  want  to  know  anything  about  any  child.  Do  what- 
ever you  please,  but  never  let  me  hear  another  word  of  the 
matter." 

That  day  was  certainly  one  fertile  in  incidents,  for  in 
the  evening  there  was  quite  an  alarm  at  the  Beauchenes. 
At  the  moment  when  they  were  about  to  sit  down  to  din- 
ner little  Maurice  fainted  away  and  fell  upon  the  floor. 
Nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed  before  the  child  could 
be  revived,  and  meantime  the  distracted  parents  quarrelled 
and  shouted,  accusing  one  another  of  having  compelled  the 
lad  to  go  out  walking  that  morning  in  such  cold,  frosty 
weather.  It  was  evidently  that  foolish  outing  which  had 
chilled  him.  At  least,  this  was  what  they  said  to  one 
another  by  way  of  quieting  their  anxiety.  Constance, 
while  she  held  her  boy  in  her  arms,  pictured  him  as  dead. 
It  occurred  to  her  for  the  first  time  that  she  might  possibly 
lose  him.  At  this  idea  she  experienced  a  terrible  heart- 
pang,  and  a  feeling  of  motherliness  came  upon  her,  so 


FRUITFULNESS  95 

acute  that  it  was  like  a  revelation.  The  ambitious  woman 
that  was  in  her,  she  who  dreamt  of  royalty  for  that  only 
son,  the  future  princely  owner  of  the  ever-growing  family 
fortune,  likewise  suffered  horribly.  If  she  was  to  lose  that 
son  she  would  have  no  child  left.  Why  had  she  none 
other  ?  Was  it  not  she  who  had  willed  it  thus  ?  At  this 
thought  a  feeling  of  desperate  regret  shot  through  her  like 
a  red-hot  blade,  burning  her  cruelly  to  the  very  depths  of 
her  being.  Maurice,  however,  at  last  recovered  conscious- 
ness, and  even  sat  down  to  the  table  and  ate  with  a  fair 
appetite.  Then  Beauchene  immediately  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  began  to  jest  about  the  unreasoning  fears  of 
women.  And  as  time  went  by  Constance  herself  ceased 
to  think  of  the  incident. 

On  the  morrow,  when  Mathieu  had  to  attend  to  the 
delicate  mission  which  he  had  undertaken,  he  remembered 
the  two  women  of  whom  Celeste,  the  maid,  had  spoken  on 
the  day  of  his  visit  to  the  Seguins.  He  at  first  dismissed 
all  idea  of  that  Madame  Rouche,  of  whom  the  girl  had 
spoken  so  strangely,  but  he  thought  of  making  some  inqui- 
ries respecting  Madame  Bourdieu,  who  accommodated 
boarders  at  the  little  house  where  she  resided  in  the  Rue 
de  Miromesnil.  And  he  seemed  to  remember  that  this 
woman  had  attended  Madame  Morange  at  the  time  of 
Reine's  birth,  a  circumstance  which  induced  him  to  ques- 
tion the  cashier. 

At  the  very  first  words  the  latter  seemed  greatly  dis- 
turbed, "  Yes,  a  lady  friend  recommended  Madame 
Bourdieu  to  my  wife,"  said  he ;  "  but  why  do  you  ask  me  f  " 

And  as  he  spoke  he  looked  at  Mathieu  with  an  expres- 
sion of  anguish,  as  if  that  sudden  mention  of  Madame 
Bourdieu's  name  signified  that  the  young  fellow  had 
guessed  his  secret  preoccupations.  It  was  as  though  he 
had  been  abruptly  surprised  in  wrong-doing.  Perhaps,  too, 
certain  dim,  haunting  thoughts,  which  he  had  long  been 
painfully  revolving  in  his  mind,  without  as  yet  being  able 
to  come  to  a  decision,  took  shape  at  that  moment.  At  all 
events,  he  turned  pale  and  his  lips  trembled. 


96  FRUITFULNESS 

Then,  as  Mathieu  gave  him  to  understand  that  it  was  a 
question  of  placing  Norine  somewhere,  he  involuntarily  let 
an  avowal  escape  him. 

"  My  wife  was  speaking  to  me  of  Madame  Bourdieu 
only  this  morning,"  he  began.  "  Oh  !  I  don't  know  how 
it  happened,  but,  as  you  are  aware,  Reine  was  born  so 
many  years  ago  that  I  can't  give  you  any  precise  informa- 
tion. It  seems  that  the  woman  has  done  well,  and  is  now 
at  the  head  of  a  first-class  establishment.  Inquire  there 
yourself;  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  find  what  you  want 
there." 

Mathieu  followed  this  advice  ;  but  at  the  same  time,  as 
he  had  been  warned  that  Madame  Bourdieu's  terms  were 
rather  high,  he  stifled  his  prejudices  and  began  by  repairing 
to  the  Rue  du  Rocher  in  order  to  reconnoitre  Madame 
Rouche's  establishment  and  make  some  inquiries  of  her. 
The  mere  aspect  of  the  place  chilled  him.  It  was  one  of 
the  black  houses  of  old  Paris,  with  a  dark,  evil-smelling 
passage,  leading  into  a  small  yard  which  the  nurse's  few 
squalid  rooms  overlooked.  Above  the  passage  entrance 
was  a  yellow  signboard  which  simply  bore  the  name  of 
Madame  Rouche  in  big  letters.  She  herself  proved  to  be 
a  person  of  five  or  six  and  thirty,  gowned  in  black  and 
spare  of  figure,  with  a  leaden  complexion,  scanty  hair  of 
no  precise  color,  and  a  big  nose  of  unusual  prominence. 
With  her  low,  drawling  speech,  her  prudent,  cat-like  ges- 
tures, and  her  sour  smile,  he  divined  her  to  be  a  dangerous, 
unscrupulous  woman.  She  told  him  that,  as  the  accom- 
modation at  her  disposal  was  so  small,  she  only  took 
boarders  for  a  limited  time,  and  this  of  course  enabled  him 
to  curtail  his  inquiries.  Glad  to  have  done  with  her,  he 
hurried  off,  oppressed  by  nausea  and  vaguely  frightened  by 
what  he  had  seen  of  the  place. 

On  the  other  hand,  Madame  Bourdieu's  establishment,  a 
little  three-storied  house  in  the  Rue  de  Miromesnil,  between 
the  Rue  La  Boe'tie  and  the  Rue  de  Penthievre,  offered  an 
engaging  aspect,  with  its  bright  facade  and  muslin-curtained 
windows.  And  Madame  Bourdieu,  then  two-and-thirty, 


FRUITFULNESS  97 

rather  short  and  stout,  had  a  broad,  pleasant  white  face, 
which  had  greatly  helped  her  on  the  road  to  success.  She 
expatiated  to  Mathieu  on  the  preliminary  training  that  was 
required  by  one  of  her  profession,  the  cost  of  it,  the  efforts 
needed  to  make  a  position,  the  responsibilities,  the  inspec- 
tions, the  worries  of  all  sorts  that  she  had  to  face ;  and  she 
plainly  told  the  young  man  that  her  charge  for  a  boarder 
would  be  two  hundred  francs  a  month.  This  was  far  more 
than  he  was  empowered  to  give ;  however,  after  some  fur- 
ther conversation,  when  Madame  Bourdieu  learnt  that  it 
was  a  question  of  four  months'  board,  she  became  more 
accommodating,  and  agreed  to  accept  a  round  sum  of  six 
hundred  francs  for  the  entire  period,  provided  that  the  per- 
son for  whom  Mathieu  was  acting  would  consent  to  occupy 
a  three-bedded  room  with  two  other  boarders. 

Altogether  there  were  about  a  dozen  boarders'  rooms  in 
the  house,  some  of  these  having  three,  and  even  four,  beds  ; 
while  others,  the  terms  for  which  were  naturally  higher, 
contained  but  one.  Madame  Bourdieu  could  accommodate 
as  many  as  thirty  boarders,  and  as  a  rule,  she  had  some 
five-and-twenty  staying  on  her  premises.  Provided  they 
complied  with  the  regulations,  no  questions  were  asked 
them.  They  were  not  required  to  say  who  they  were  or 
whence  they  came,  and  in  most  cases  they  were  merely 
known  by  some  Christian  name  which  they  chose  to  give. 

Mathieu  ended  by  agreeing  to  Madame  Bourdieu's  terms, 
and  that  same  evening  Norine  was  taken  to  her  establish- 
ment. Some  little  trouble  ensued  with  Beauchene,  who 
protested  when  he  learnt  that  five  hundred  francs  would 
not  suffice  to  defray  the  expenses.  However,  Mathieu 
managed  affairs  so  diplomatically  that  at  last  the  other  not 
only  became  reconciled  to  the  terms,  but  provided  the  money 
to  purchase  a  little  linen,  and  even  agreed  to  supply  pocket- 
money  to  the  extent  of  ten  francs  a  month.  Thus,  five 
days  after  Norine  had  entered  Madame  Bourdieu's  estab- 
lishment, Mathieu  decided  to  return  thither  to  hand  the 
girl  her  first  ten  francs  and  tell  her  that  he  had  settled 
everything. 


98  FRUITFULNESS 

He  found  her  there  in  the  boarders'  refectory  with  some 
of  her  companions  in  the  house  —  a  tall,  thin,  severe-look- 
ing Englishwoman,  with  lifeless  eyes  and  bloodless  lips, 
who  called  herself  Amy,  and  a  pale  red-haired  girl  with  a 
tip-tilted  nose  and  a  big  mouth,  who  was  known  as  Vic- 
toire.  Then,  too,  there  was  a  young  person  of  great  beauty 
answering  to  the  name  of  Rosine,  a  jeweller's  daughter,  so 
Norine  told  Mathieu,  whose  story  was  at  once  pathetic  and 
horrible.  The  young  man,  while  waiting  to  see  Madame 
Bourdieu,  who  was  engaged,  sat  for  a  time  answering 
Norine's  questions,  and  listening  to  the  others,  who  con- 
versed before  him  in  a  free  and  open  way.  His  heart  was 
wrung  by  much  that  he  heard,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  rid 
himself  of  Norine  he  returned  to  the  waiting-room,  eager 
to  complete  his  business.  There,  however,  two  women 
who  wished  to  consult  Madame  Bourdieu,  and  who  sat 
chatting  side  by  side  on  a  sofa,  told  him  that  she  was  still 
engaged,  so  that  he  was  compelled  to  tarry  a  little  longer. 
He  ensconced  himself  in  a  large  armchair,  and  taking  a 
newspaper  from  his  pocket,  began  to  read  it.  But  he  had 
not  been  thus  occupied  for  many  minutes  before  the  door 
opened  and  a  servant  entered,  ushering  in  a  lady  dressed  in 
black  and  thickly  veiled,  whom  she  asked  to  be  good  enough 
to  wait  her  turn.  Mathieu  was  on  the  point  of  rising,  for, 
though  his  back  was  turned  to  the  door,  he  could  see,  in  a 
looking-glass,  that  the  new  arrival  was  none  other  than 
Morange's  wife,  Valerie.  After  a  moment's  hesitation, 
however,  the  sight  of  her  black  gown  and  thick  veil,  which 
seemed  to  indicate  that  she  desired  to  escape  recognition, 
induced  him  to  dive  back  into  his  armchair  and  feign  ex- 
treme attention  to  his  newspaper.  She,  on  her  side,  had 
certainly  not  noticed  him,  but  by  glancing  slantwise  towards 
the  looking-glass  he  could  observe  all  her  movements. 

Meantime  the  conversation  between  the  other  women  on 
the  sofa  continued,  and  to  Mathieu's  surprise  it  suddenly 
turned  on  Madame  Rouche,  concerning  whom  one  of  them 
began  telling  the  most  horrible  stories,  which  fully  con- 
firmed the  young  man's  previous  suspicions.  These  stories 


FRUITFULNESS  99 

seemed  to  have  a  powerful  fascination  for  Valerie,  who  sat 
in  a  corner,  never  stirring,  but  listening  intently.  She  did 
not  even  turn  her  head  towards  the  other  women,  but, 
beneath  her  veil,  Mathieu  could  detect  her  big  eyes  glitter- 
ing feverishly.  She  started  but  once.  It  was  when  one 
of  the  others  inquired  of  her  friend  where  that  horrid  crea- 
ture La  Rouche  resided,  and  the  other  replied, "  At  the  lower 
end  of  the  Rue  du  Rocher." 

Then  their  chatter  abruptly  ceased,  for  Madame  Bour- 
dieu  made  her  appearance  on  the  threshold  of  her  private 
room.  The  gossips  exchanged  only  a  few  words  with  her, 
and  then,  as  Mathieu  remained  in  his  armchair,  the  high 
back  of  which  concealed  him  from  view,  Valerie  rose  from 
her  seat  and  followed  Madame  Bourdieu  into  the  private 
room. 

As  soon  as  he  was  alone  the  young  man  let  his  news- 
paper fall  upon  his  knees,  and  lapsed  into  a  reverie,  haunted 
by  all  the  chatter  he  had  heard,  both  there  and  in  Norine's 
company,  and  shuddering  at  the  thought  of  the  dreadful 
secrets  that  had  been  revealed  to  him.  How  long  an  inter- 
val elapsed  he  could  not  tell,  but  at  last  he  was  suddenly 
roused  by  a  sound  of  voices. 

Madame  Bourdieu  was  now  escorting  Valerie  to  the  door. 
She  had  the  same  plump  fresh  face  as  usual,  and  even 
smiled  in  a  motherly  way ;  but  the  other  was  quivering, 
as  with  distress  and  grief.  "You  are  not  sensible,  my 
dear  child,"  said  Madame  Bourdieu  to  her.  "  It  is  simply 
foolish  of  you.  Come,  go  home  and  be  good." 

Then,  Valerie  having  withdrawn  without  uttering  a 
word,  Madame  Bourdieu  was  greatly  surprised  to  see 
Mathieu,  who  had  risen  from  his  chair.  And  she  sud- 
denly became  serious,  displeased  with  herself  at  having 
spoken  in  his  presence.  Fortunately,  a  diversion  was 
created  by  the  arrival  of  Norine,  who  came  in  from  the 
refectory ;  and  Mathieu  then  promptly  settled  his  business 
and  went  off,  after  promising  Norine  that  he  would  return 
some  day  to  see  her. 

To  make  up  for  lost  time  he  was  walking  hastily  towards 


ioo  FRUITFULNESS 

the  Rue  La  Boetie,  when,  all  at  once,  he  came  to  a  halt, 
for  at  the  very  corner  of  that  street  he  again  perceived 
Valerie,  now  talking  to  a  man,  none  other  than  her  hus- 
band. So  Morange  had  come  with  her,  and  had  waited 
for  her  in  the  street  while  she  interviewed  Madame  Bour- 
dieu.  And  now  they  both  stood  there  consulting  together, 
hesitating  and  evidently  in  distress.  It  was  plain  to  Mathieu 
that  a  terrible  combat  was  going  on  within  them.  They 
stamped  about,  moved  hither  and  thither  in  a  feverish  way, 
then  halted  once  more  to  resume  their  conversation  in  a 
whisper.  At  one  moment  the  young  man  felt  intensely 
relieved,  for,  turning  into  the  Rue  La  Boetie,  they  walked 
on  slowly,  as  if  downcast  and  resigned,  in  the  direction  of 
Grenelle.  But  all  at  once  they  halted  once  more  and 
exchanged  a  few  words ;  and  then  Mathieu's  heart  con- 
tracted as  he  saw  them  retrace  their  steps  along  the  Rue 
La  Boe'tie  and  follow  the  Rue  de  la  Pepiniere  as  far  as  the 
Rue  du  Rocher.  He  readily  divined  whither  they  were 
going,  but  some  irresistible  force  impelled  him  to  follow 
them ;  and  before  long,  from  an  open  doorway,  in  which 
he  prudently  concealed  himself,  he  saw  them  look  round  to 
ascertain  whether  they  were  observed,  and  then  slink,  first 
the  wife  and  afterwards  the  husband,  into  the  dark  passage 
of  La  Rouche's  house.  For  a  moment  Mathieu  lingered 
in  his  hiding-place,  quivering,  full  of  dread  and  horror;  and 
when  at  last  he  turned  his  steps  homeward  it  was  with  a 
heavy  heart  indeed. 

The  weeks  went  by,  the  winter  ran  its  course,  and 
March  had  come  round,  when  the  memory  of  all  that  the 
young  fellow  had  heard  and  seen  that  day  —  things  which 
he  had  vainly  striven  to  forget  —  was  revived  in  the  most 
startling  fashion.  One  morning  at  eight  o'clock  Morange 
abruptly  called  at  the  little  pavilion  in  the  Rue  de  la  Fede- 
ration, accompanied  by  his  daughter  Reine.  The  cashier 
was  livid,  haggard,  distracted,  and  as  soon  as  Reine  had 
joined  Mathieu's  children,  and  could  not  hear  what  he  said, 
he  implored  the  young  man  to  come  with  him.  In  a  gasp 
he  told  the  dreadful  truth  —  Valerie  was  dying.  Her  daugh- 


FRUITFULNESS  101 

ter  believed  her  to  be  in  the  country,  but  that  was  a  mere 
fib  devised  to  quiet  the  girl.  Valerie  was  elsewhere,  in 
Paris,  and  he,  Morange,  had  a  cab  waiting  below,  but 
lacked  the  strength  to  go  back  to  her  alone,  so  poignant 
was  his  grief,  so  great  his  dread. 

Mathieu  was  expecting  a  happy  event  that  very  day,  and 
he  at  first  told  the  cashier  that  he  could  not  possibly  go  with 
him ;  but  when  he  had  informed  Marianne  that  he  believed 
that  something  dreadful  had  happened  to  the  Moranges, 
she  bravely  bade  him  render  all  assistance.  And  then  the 
two  men  drove,  as  Mathieu  had  anticipated,  to  the  Rue  du 
Rocher,  and  there  found  the  hapless  Valerie,  not  dying,  but 
dead,  and  white,  and  icy  cold.  Ah  !  the  desperate,  tearless 
grief  of  the  husband,  who  fell  upon  his  knees  at  the  bed- 
side, benumbed,  annihilated,  as  if  he  also  felt  death's  heavy 
hand  upon  him. 

For  a  moment,  indeed,  the  young  man  anticipated  expo- 
sure and  scandal.  But  when  he  hinted  this  to  La  Rouche 
she  faintly  smiled.  She  had  friends  on  many  sides,  it 
seemed.  She  had  already  reported  Valerie's  death  at  the 
municipal  office,  and  the  doctor,  who  would  be  sent  to 
certify  the  demise,  would  simple  ascribe  it  to  natural  causes. 
Such  was  the  usual  practice ! 

Then  Mathieu  bethought  himself  of  leading  Morange 
away  ;  but  the  other,  still  plunged  in  painful  stupor,  did  not 
heed  him. 

u  No,  no,  my  friend,  I  pray  you,  say  nothing,"  he  at  last 
replied,  in  a  very  faint,  distant  voice,  as  though  he  feared  to 
awaken  the  unfortunate  woman  who  had  fallen  asleep  for- 
ever. "  I  know  what  I  have  done ;  I  shall  never  forgive 
myself.  If  she  lies  there,  it  is  because  I  consented.  Yet 
I  adored  her,  and  never  wished  her  aught  but  happiness.  I 
loved  her  too  much,  and  I  was  weak.  Still,  I  was  the  hus- 
band, and  when  her  madness  came  upon  her  I  ought  to 
have  acted  sensibly,  and  have  warned  and  dissuaded  her.  I 
can  understand  and  excuse  her,  poor  creature ;  but  as  for 
me,  it  is  all  over ;  I  am  a  wretch ;  I  feel  horrified  with 
myself." 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  BARBARA  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 


T02  FRUITFULNESS 

All  his  mediocrity  and  tenderness  of  heart  sobbed  forth 
in  this  confession  of  his  weakness.  And  his  voice  never 
gave  sign  of  animation,  never  rose  in  a  louder  tone  from 

o  o 

the  depths  of  his  annihilated  being,  which  would  evermore 
be  void.  "  She  wished  to  be  gay,  and  rich,  and  happy,"  he 
continued.  "  It  was  so  legitimate  a  wish  on  her  part,  she 
was  so  intelligent  and  beautiful !  There  was  only  one 
delight  for  me,  to  content  her  tastes  and  satisfy  her  ambi- 
tion. You  know  our  new  flat.  We  spent  far  too  much 
money  on  it.  Then  came  that  story  of  the  Credit  National 
and  the  hope  of  speedily  rising  to  fortune.  And  thus, 
when  the  trouble  came,  and  I  saw  her  distracted  at  the 
idea  of  having  to  renounce  all  her  dreams,  I  became  as  mad 
as  she  was,  and  suffered  her  to  do  her  will.  We  thought 
that  our  only  means  of  escaping  from  everlasting  penury 
and  drudgery  was  to  evade  Nature,  and  now,  alas  !  she  lies 
there." 

Morange's  lugubrious  voice,  never  broken  by  a  sob,  never 
rising  to  violence,  but  sounding  like  a  distant,  monotonous, 
mournful  knell,  rent  Mathieu's  heart.  He  sought  words 
of  consolation,  and  spoke  of  Reine. 

"Ah,  yes !  "  said  the  other,  "I  am  very  fond  of  Reine. 
She  is  so  like  her  mother.  You  will  keep  her  at  your  house 
till  to-morrow,  won't  you  ?  Tell  her  nothing ;  let  her 
play  ;  I  will  acquaint  her  with  this  dreadful  misfortune. 
And  don't  worry  me,  I  beg  you,  don't  take  me  away.  I 
promise  you  that  I  will  keep  very  quiet :  I  will  simply  stay 
here,  watching  her.  Nobody  will  even  hear  me ;  I  shan't 
disturb  any  one." 

Then  his  voice  faltered  and  he  stammered  a  few  more 
incoherent  phrases  as  he  sank  into  a  dream  of  his  wrecked 
life. 

Mathieu,  seeing  him  so  quiet,  so  overcome,  at  last  de- 
cided to  leave  him  there,  and,  entering  the  waiting  cab, 
drove  back  to  Crenelle.  Ah  !  it  was  indeed  relief  for  him 
to  see  the  crowded,  sunlit  streets  again,  and  to  breathe  the 
keen  air  which  came  in  at  both  windows  of  the  vehicle. 
Emerging  from  that  horrid  gloom,  he  breathed  gladly  be- 


FRUITFULNESS  103 

neath  the  vast  sky,  all  radiant  with  healthy  joy.  And  the 
image  of  Marianne  arose  before  him  like  a  consolatory 
promise  of  life's  coming  victory,  an  atonement  for  every 
shame  and  iniquity.  His  dear  wife,  whom  everlasting  hope 
kept  full  of  health  and  courage,  and  through  whom,  even 
amid  her  pangs,  love  would  triumph,  while  they  both  held 
themselves  in  readiness  for  to-morrow's  allotted  effort !  The 
cab  rolled  on  so  slowly  that  Mathieu  almost  despaired,  eager 
as  he  was  to  reach  his  bright  little  house,  that  he  might 
once  more  take  part  in  life's  poem,  that  august  festival  in- 
stinct with  so  much  suffering  and  so  much  joy,  humanity's 
everlasting  hymn,  the  coming  of  a  new  being  into  the  world. 

That  very  day,  soon  after  his  return,  Denis  and  Blaise, 
Ambroise,  Rose,  and  Reine  were  sent  round  to  the  Beau- 
chenes',  where  they  filled  the  house  with  their  romping 
mirth.  Maurice,  however,  was  again  ailing,  and  had  to  lie 
upon  a  sofa,  disconsolate  at  being  unable  to  take  part  in  the 
play  of  the  others.  "  He  has  pains  in  his  legs,"  said  his 
father  to  Mathieu,  when  he  came  round  to  inquire  after 
Marianne ;  "  he's  growing  so  fast,  and  getting  such  a  big 
fellow,  you  know." 

Lightly  as  Beauchene  spoke,  his  eyes  even  then  wavered, 
and  his  face  remained  for  a  moment  clouded.  Perhaps,  in 
his  turn,  he  also  had  felt  the  passing  of  that  icy  breath 
from  the  unknown  which  one  evening  had  made  Constance 
shudder  with  dread  whilst  she  clasped  her  swooning  boy  in 
her  arms. 

But  at  that  moment  Mathieu,  who  had  left  Marianne's 
room  to  answer  Beauchene's  inquiries,  was  summoned  back 
again.  And  there  he  now  found  the  sunlight  streaming 
brilliantly,  like  a  glorious  greeting  to  new  life.  While  he 
yet  stood  there,  dazzled  by  the  glow,  the  doctor  said  to 
him  :  "  It  is  a  boy." 

Then  Mathieu  leant  over  his  wife  and  kissed  her  lov- 
ingly. Her  beautiful  eyes  were  still  moist  with  the  tears 
of  anguish,  but  she  was  already  smiling  with  happiness. 

11  Dear,  dear  wife,"  said  Mathieu,  "  how  good  and  brave 
you  are,  and  how  I  love  you  !  " 


io4  FRUITFULNESS 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  am  very  happy,"  she  faltered,  "  and  I  must 
try  to  give  you  back  all  the  love  that  you  give  me." 

Ah  !  that  room  of  battle  and  victory,  it  seemed  radiant 
with  triumphant  glory.  Elsewhere  was  death,  darkness, 
shame,  and  crime,  but  here  holy  suffering  had  led  to  joy  and 
pride,  hope  and  trustfulness  in  the  coming  future.  One 
single  being  born,  a  poor  bare  wee  creature,  raising  the 
faint  cry  of  a  chilly  fledgeling,  and  life's  immense  treasure 
was  increased  and  eternity  insured.  Mathieu  remembered 
one  warm  balmy  spring  night  when,  yonder  at  Chantebled, 
all  the  perfumes  of  fruitful  nature  had  streamed  into  their 
room  in  the  little  hunting-box,  and  now  around  him 
amid  equal  rapture  he  beheld  the  ardent  sunlight  flaring, 
chanting  the  poem  of  eternal  life  that  sprang  from  love  the 
eternal. 


VII 

"I  TELL  you  that  I  don't  need  Zoe  to  give  the  child  a 
bath,"  exclaimed  Mathieu  half  in  anger.  "Stay  in  bed, 
and  rest  yourself!" 

"  But  the  servant  must  get  the  bath  ready,"  replied 
Marianne,  "  and  bring  you  some  warm  water." 

She  laughed  as  if  amused  by  the  dispute,  and  he  ended 
by  laughing  also. 

Two  days  previously  they  had  re-installed  themselves  in 
the  little  pavilion  on  the  verge  of  the  woods  near  Janville 
which  they  rented  from  the  Seguins.  So  impatient,  indeed, 
were  they  to  find  themselves  once  more  among  the  fields 
that  in  spite  of  the  doctor's  advice  Marianne  had  made  the 
journey  but  fifteen  days  after  giving  birth  to  her  little  boy. 
However,  a  precocious  springtide  brought  with  it  that 
March  such  balmy  warmth  and  sunshine  that  the  only  ill- 
effect  she  experienced  was  a  little  fatigue.  And  so,  on  the 
day  after  their  arrival  —  Sunday  —  Mathieu,  glad  at  being 
able  to  remain  with  her,  insisted  that  she  should  rest  in 
bed,  and  only  rise  about  noon,  in  time  for  dejeuner. 

"  Why,"  he  repeated,  "  I  can  very  well  attend  to  the 
child  while  you  rest.  You  have  him  in  your  arms  from 
morning  till  night.  And,  besides,  if  you  only  knew  how 
pleased  I  am  to  be  here  again  with  you  and  the  dear  little 
fellow." 

He  approached  her  to  kiss  her  gently,  and  with  a  fresh 
laugh  she  returned  his  kiss.  It  was  quite  true:  they  were 
both  delighted  to  be  back  at  Chantebled,  which  recalled  to 
them  such  loving  memories.  That  room,  looking  towards 
the  far  expanse  of  sky  and  all  the  countryside,  renascent, 
quivering  with  sap,  was  gilded  with  gayety  by  the  early 
springtide. 

105 


io6  FRUITFULNESS 

Marianne  leant  over  the  cradle  which  was  near  her, 
beside  the  bed.  "  The  fact  is,"  said  she,  "  Master  Gervais 
is  sound  asleep.  Just  look  at  him.  You  will  never  have 
the  heart  to  wake  him." 

Then  both  father  and  mother  remained  for  a  moment 
gazing  at  their  sleeping  child.  Marianne  had  passed  her 
arm  round  her  husband's  neck  and  was  clinging  to  him,  as 
they  laughed  delightedly  over  the  cradle  in  which  the  little 
one  slumbered.  He  was  a  fine  child,  pink  and  white 
already ;  but  only  a  father  and  mother  could  thus  contem- 
plate their  offspring.  As  the  baby  opened  his  eyes,  which 
were  still  full  of  all  the  mystery  whence  he  had  come,  they 
raised  exclamations  full  of  emotion. 

"  You  know,  he  saw  me  !  " 

"  Certainly,  and  me  too.  He  looked  at  me  :  he  turned 
his  head." 

"Oh,  the  cherub!" 

It  was  but  an  illusion,  but  that  dear  little  face,  still  so 
soft  and  silent,  told  them  so  many  things  which  none  other 
would  have  heard !  They  found  themselves  repeated  in 
the  child,  mingled  as  it  were  together ;  and  detected  extraor- 
dinary likenesses,  which  for  hours  and  for  days  kept  them 
discussing  the  question  as  to  which  of  them  he  most  resem- 
bled. Moreover,  each  proved  very  obstinate,  declaring  that 
he  was  the  living  portrait  of  the  other. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  Master  Gervais  had  no  sooner 
opened  his  eyes  than  he  began  to  shriek.  But  Marianne 
was  pitiless  :  her  rule  was  the  bath  first  and  milk  afterwards. 
Zoe  brought  up  a  big  jug  of  hot  water,  and  then  set  out  the 
little  bath  near  the  window  in  the  sunlight.  And  Mathieu, 
all  obstinacy,  bathed  the  child,  washing  him  with  a  soft 
sponge  for  some  three  minutes,  while  Marianne,  from  her 
bed,  watched  over  the  operation,  jesting  about  the  delicacy 
of  touch  that  he  displayed,  as  if  the  child  were  some  fragile 
new-born  divinity  whom  he  feared  to  bruise  with  his  big 
hands.  At  the  same  time  they  continued  marvelling  at  the 
delightful  scene.  How  pretty  he  looked  in  the  water,  his 
pink  skin  shining  in  the  sunlight !  And  how  well-behaved 


FRUITFULNESS  107 

he  was,  for  it  was  wonderful  to  see  how  quickly  he  ceased 
wailing  and  gave  signs  of  satisfaction  when  he  felt  the  all- 
enveloping  caress  of  the  warm  water.  Never  had  father 
and  mother  possessed  such  a  little  treasure. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mathieu,  when  Zoe  had  helped  him 
to  wipe  the  boy  with  a  fine  cloth,  "  and  now  we  will  weigh 
Master  Gervais." 

This  was  a  complicated  operation,  which  was  rendered 
the  more  difficult  by  the  extreme  repugnance  that  the  child 
displayed.  He  struggled  and  wriggled  on  the  platform  of 
the  weighing  scales  to  such  a  degree  that  it  was  impossible 
to  arrive  at  his  correct  weight,  in  order  to  ascertain  how 
much  this  had  increased  since  the  previous  occasion.  As  a 
rule,  the  increase  varied  from  six  to  seven  ounces  a  week. 
The  father  generally  lost  patience  over  the  operation,  and 
the  mother  had  to  intervene. 

"  Here !  put  the  scales  on  the  table  near  my  bed,  and 
give  me  the  little  one  in  his  napkin.  We  will  see  what  the 
napkin  weighs  afterwards." 

At  this  moment,  however,  the  customary  morning  invasion 
took  place.  The  other  four  children,  who  were  beginning 
to  know  how  to  dress  themselves,  the  elder  ones  helping 
the  younger,  and  Zoe  lending  a  hand  at  times,  darted  in  at  a 
gallop,  like  frolicsome  escaped  colts.  Having  thrown  them- 
selves on  papa's  neck  and  rushed  upon  mamma's  bed  to  say 
good-morning,  the  boys  stopped  short,  full  of  admiration 
and  interest  at  the  sight  of  Gervais  in  the  scales.  Rose, 
however,  still  rather  uncertain  on  her  legs,  caught  hold  of 
the  scales  in  her  impatient  efforts  to  climb  upon  the  bed, 
and  almost  toppled  everything  over.  "  I  want  to  see !  I 
want  to  see  !  "  she  cried  in  her  shrill  voice. 

At  this  the  others  likewise  wished  to  meddle,  and  already 
stretched  out  their  little  hands,  so  that  it  became  necessary 
to  turn  them  out  of  doors. 

"  Now  kindly  oblige  me  by  going  to  play  outside,"  said 
Mathieu.  "  Take  your  hats  and  remain  under  the  window, 
so  that  we  may  hear  you." 

Then,  in  spite  of  the  complaints  and  leaps  of  Master 


io8  FRUITFULNESS 

Gervais,  Marianne  was  at  last  able  to  obtain  his  correct 
weight.  And  what  delight  there  was,  for  he  had  gained 
more  than  seven  ounces  during  the  week.  After  losing 
weight  during  the  first  three  days,  like  all  new-born  children, 
he  was  now  growing  and  filling  out  like  a  strong,  healthy 
human  plant.  They  could  already  picture  him  walking, 
sturdy  and  handsome.  His  mother,  sitting  up  in  bed, 
wrapped  his  swaddling  clothes  around  him  with  her  deft, 
nimble  hands,  jesting  the  while  and  answering  each  of  his 
plaintive  wails. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,  we  are  very,  very  hungry.  But  it 
is  all  right;  the  soup  is  on  the  fire,  and  will  be  served  to 
Monsieur  smoking  hot." 

On  awakening  that  morning  she  had  made  a  real  Sunday 
toilette  :  her  superb  hair  was  caught  up  in  a  huge  chignon 
'which  disclosed  the  whiteness  of  her  neck,  and  she  wore  a 
white  flannel  lace-trimmed  dressing-jacket,  which  allowed 
but  a  little  of  her  bare  arms  to  be  seen.  Propped  up  by 
two  pillows,  she  laughingly  offered  her  breast  to  the  child, 
who  was  already  protruding  his  lips  and  groping  with  his 
hands.  And  when  he  found  what  he  wanted  he  eagerly 
began  to  suck. 

Mathieu,  seeing  that  both  mother  and  babe  were  steeped 
in  sunshine,  then  went  to  draw  one  of  the  curtains,  but 
Marianne  exclaimed  :  "  No,  no,  leave  us  the  sun  ;  it  doesn't 
inconvenience  us  at  all,  it  fills  our  veins  with  springtide." 

He  came  back  and  lingered  near  the  bed.  The  sun's 
rays  poured  over  it,  and  life  blazed  there  in  a  florescence  of 
health  and  beauty.  There  is  no  more  glorious  blossoming, 
no  more  sacred  symbol  of  living  eternity  than  an  infant  at 
its  mother's  breast.  It  is  like  a  prolongation  of  maternity's 
travail,  when  the  mother  continues  giving  herself  to  her 
babe,  offering  him  the  fountain  of  life  that  shall  make  him 
a  man. 

Scarce  is  he  born  to  the  world  than  she  takes  him  back 
and  clasps  him  to  her  bosom,  that  he  may  there  again  have 
warmth  and  nourishment.  And  nothing  could  be  more 
simple  or  more  necessary.  Marianne,  both  for  her  own 


FRUITFULNESS  109 

sake  and  that  of  her  boy,  in  order  that  beauty  and  health 
might  remain  their  portion,  was  naturally  his  nurse. 

Little  Gervais  was  still  sucking  when  Zoe,  after  tidying 
the  room,  came  up  again  with  a  big  bunch  of  lilac,  and  an- 
nounced that  Monsieur  and  Madame  Angelin  had  called,  on 
their  way  back  from  an  early  walk,  to  inquire  after  Madame. 

"  Show  them  up,"  said  Marianne  gayly  j  "  I  can  well 
receive  them." 

The  Angelins  were  the  young  couple  who,  having 
installed  themselves  in  a  little  house  at  Janville,  ever 
roamed  the  lonely  paths,  absorbed  in  their  mutual  passion. 
She  was  delicious — dark,  tall,  admirably  formed,  always 
joyous  and  fond  of  pleasure.  He,  a  handsome  fellow,  fair 
and  square  shouldered,  had  the  gallant  mien  of  a  musketeer 
with  his  streaming  moustache.  In  addition  to  their  ten 
thousand  francs  a  year,  which  enabled  them  to  live  as  they 
liked,  he  earned  a  little  money  by  painting  pretty  fans, 
flowery  with  roses  and  little  women  deftly  postured.  And 
so  their  life  had  hitherto  been  a  game  of  love,  an  everlast- 
ing billing  and  cooing.  Towards  the  close  of  the  previous 
summer  they  had  become  quite  intimate  with  the  Froments, 
through  meeting  them  well-nigh  every  day. 

"  Can  we  come  in  ?  Are  we  not  intruding  ?  "  called 
Angelin,  in  his  sonorous  voice,  from  the  landing. 

Then  Claire,  his  wife,  as  soon  as  she  had  kissed  Mari- 
anne, apologized  for  having  called  so  early. 

"  We  only  learnt  last  night,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "  that 
you  had  arrived  the  day  before.  We  didn't  expect  you  for 
another  eight  or  ten  days.  And  so,  as  we  passed  the  house 
just  now,  we  couldn't  resist  calling.  You  will  forgive  us, 
won't  you  ?  "  Then,  never  waiting  for  an  answer,  she 
added  with  the  petulant  vivacity  of  a  torn-tit  whom  the 
open  air  had  intoxicated  :  "  Oh  !  so  there  is  the  new  little 
gentleman  —  a  boy,  am  I  not  right?  And  your  health  is 
good  ?  But  really  I  need  not  ask  it.  Mon  Dieu,  what  a 
pretty  little  fellow  he  is !  Look  at  him,  Robert ;  how 
pretty  he  is  !  A  real  little  doll !  Isn't  he  funny  now, 
isn't  he  funny  !  He  is  quite  amusing." 


no  FRUITFULNESS 

Her  husband,  observing  her  gayety,  drew  near  and  began 
to  admire  the  child  by  way  of  following  her  example.  "  Ah  ! 
yes,  he  is  really  a  pretty  baby.  But  I  have  seen  so  many 
frightful  ones  —  thin,  puny,  bluish  little  things,  looking  like 
little  plucked  chickens.  When  they  are  white  and  plump 
they  are  quite  nice." 

Mathieu  began  to  laugh,  and  twitted  the  Angelins  on 
having  no  child  of  their  own.  But  on  this  point  they  held 
very  decided  opinions.  They  wished  to  enjoy  life,  unbur- 
dened by  offspring,  while  they  were  young.  As  for  what 
might  happen  in  five  or  six  years'  time,  that,  of  course,  was 
another  matter.  Nevertheless,  Madame  Angelin  could  not 
help  being  struck  by  the  delightful  picture  which  Marianne, 
so  fresh  and  gay,  presented  with  her  plump  little  babe  at  her 
breast  in  that  white  bed  amid  the  bright  sunshine. 

At  last  she  remarked:  "There's  one  thing.  I  certainly 
could  not  feed  a  child.  I  should  have  to  engage  a  nurse 
for  any  baby  of  mine." 

"  Of  course  !  "  her  husband  replied.  "  I  would  never 
allow  you  to  feed  it.  It  would  be  idiotic." 

These  words  had  scarcely  passed  his  lips  when  he  regretted 
them  and  apologized  to  Marianne,  explaining  that  no  mother 
possessed  of  means  was  nowadays  willing  to  face  the  trouble 
and  worry  of  nursing. 

"  Oh  !  for  my  part,"  Marianne  responded,  with  her  quiet 
smile,  "  if  I  had  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year  I  should 
nurse  all  my  children,  even  were  there  a  dozen  of  them. 
To  begin  with,  it  is  so  healthful,  you  know,  both  for 
mother  and  child  :  and  if  I  didn't  do  my  duty  to  the  little 
one  I  should  look  on  myself  as  a  criminal,  as  a  mother  who 
grudged  her  offspring  health  and  life." 

Lowering  her  beautiful  soft  eyes  towards  her  boy,  she 
watched  him  with  a  look  of  infinite  love,  while  he  con- 
tinued nursing  gluttonously.  And  in  a  dreamy  voice  she 
continued:  "To  give  a  child  of  mine  to  another  —  oh! 
no,  never  !  I  should  feel  too  jealous.  I  want  my  children 
to  be  entirely  my  own.  And  it  isn't  merely  a  question  of 
a  child's  physical  health.  I  speak  of  his  whole  being,  of 


FRUITFULNESS  in 

the  intelligence  and  heart  that  will  come  to  him,  and  which 
he  ought  to  derive  from  me  alone.  If  I  should  find  him 
foolish  or  malicious  later  on,  I  should  think  that  his  nurse 
had  poisoned  him.  Dear  little  fellow !  when  he  pulls  like 
that  it  is  as  if  he  were  drinking  me  up  entirely." 

Then  Mathieu,  deeply  moved,  turned  towards  the  others, 
saying  :  "  Ah  !  she  is  quite  right.  I  only  wish  that  every 
mother  could  hear  her,  and  make  it  the  fashion  in  France 
once  more  to  suckle  their  infants.  It  would  be  sufficient 
if  it  became  an  ideal  of  beauty.  And,  indeed,  is  it  not  of 
the  loftiest  and  brightest  beauty  ?  " 

The  Angelins  complaisantly  began  to  laugh,  but  they  did 
not  seem  convinced.  Just  as  they  rose  to  take  their  leave 
an  extraordinary  uproar  burst  forth  beneath  the  window, 
the  piercing  clamor  of  little  wildings,  freely  romping  in 
the  fields.  And  it  was  all  caused  by  Ambroise  throwing  a 
ball,  which  had  lodged  itself  on  a  tree.  Blaise  and  Denis 
were  flinging  stones  at  it  to  bring  it  down,  and  Rose  called 
and  jumped  and  stretched  out  her  arms  as  if  she  hoped  to 
be  able  to  reach  the  ball.  The  Angelins  stopped  short, 
surprised  and  almost  nervous. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  murmured  Claire,  "  what  will  it  be 
when  you  have  a  dozen  ?  " 

"  But  the  house  would  seem  quite  dead  if  they  did  not 
romp  and  shout,"  said  Marianne,  much  amused.  "  Good- 
by,  my  dear.  I  will  go  to  see  you  when  I  can  get 
about." 

The  months  of  March  and  April  proved  superb,  and  all 
went  well  with  Marianne.  Thus  the  lonely  little  house, 
nestling  amid  foliage,  was  ever  joyous.  Each  Sunday  in 
particular  proved  a  joy,  for  the  father  did  not  then  have  to 
go  to  his  office.  On  the  other  days  he  started  off  early  in 
the  morning,  and  returned  about  seven  o'clock,  ever  busily 
laden  with  work  in  the  interval.  And  if  his  constant  per- 
ambulations did  not  affect  his  good-humor,  he  was  never- 
theless often  haunted  by  thoughts  of  the  future.  Formerly 
he  had  never  been  alarmed  by  the  penury  of  his  little 
home.  Never  had  he  indulged  in  any  dream  of  ambition 


ii2  FRUITFULNESS 

or  wealth.  Besides,  he  knew  that  his  wife's  only  idea  of 
happiness,  like  his  own,  was  to  live  there  in  very  simple 
fashion,  leading  a  brave  life  of  health,  peacefulness,  and 
love.  But  while  he  did  not  desire  the  power  procured  by 
a  high  position  and  the  enjoyment  offered  by  a  large  for- 
tune, he  could  not  help  asking  himself  how  he  was  to  pro- 
vide, were  it  ever  so  modestly,  for  his  increasing  family. 
What  would  he  be  able  to  do,  should  he  have  other  chil- 
dren; how  would  he  procure  the  necessaries  of  life  each 
time  that  a  fresh  birth  might  impose  fresh  requirements 
upon  him  ?  One  situated  as  he  was  must  create  resources, 
draw  food  from  the  earth  step  by  step,  each  time  a  little 
mouth  opened  and  cried  its  hunger  aloud.  Otherwise  he 
would  be  guilty  of  criminal  improvidence.  And  such 
reflections  as  these  came  upon  him  the  more  strongly  as  his 
penury  had  increased  since  the  birth  of  Gervais  —  to  such 
a  point,  indeed,  that  Marianne,  despite  prodigies  of  econ- 
omy, no  longer  knew  how  to  make  her  money  last  her  till 
the  end  of  the  month.  The  slightest  expenditure  had  to 
be  debated ;  the  very  butter  had  to  be  spread  thinly  on  the 
children's  bread ;  and  they  had  to  continue  wearing  their 
blouses  till  they  were  well-nigh  threadbare.  To  increase 
the  embarrassment  they  grew  every  year,  and  cost  more 
money.  It  had  been  necessary  to  send  the  three  boys 
to  a  little  school  at  Janville,  which  was  as  yet  but  a  small 
expense.  But  would  it  not  be  necessary  to  send  them  the 
following  year  to  a  college,  and  where  was  the  money  for 
this  to  come  from  ?  A  grave  problem,  a  worry  which  grew 
from  hour  to  hour,  and  which  for  Mathieu  somewhat  spoilt 
that  charming  spring  whose  advent  was  flowering  the 
countryside. 

The  worst  was  that  Mathieu  deemed  himself  immured, 
as  it  were,  in  his  position  as  designer  at  the  Beauchene 
works.  Even  admitting  that  his  salary  should  some  day 
be  doubled,  it  was  not  seven  or  eight  thousand  francs  a 
year  which  would  enable  him  to  realize  his  dream  of  a 
numerous  family  freely  and  proudly  growing  and  spreading 
like  some  happy  forest,  indebted  solely  for  strength,  health, 


FRUITFULNESS  113 

and  beauty  to  the  good  common  mother  of  all,  the  earth, 
which  gave  to  all  its  sap.  And  this  was  why,  since  his 
return  to  Janville,  the  earth,  the  soil  had  attracted  him, 
detained  him  during  his  frequent  walks,  while  he  revolved 
vague  but  ever-expanding  thoughts  in  his  mind.  He  would 
pause  for  long  minutes,  now  before  a  field  of  wheat,  now 
on  the  verge  of  a  leafy  wood,  now  on  the  margin  of  a 
river  whose  waters  glistened  in  the  sunshine,  and  now 
amid  the  nettles  of  some  stony  moorland.  All  sorts  of 
vague  plans  then  rose  within  him,  uncertain  reveries  of 
such  vast  scope,  such  singularity,  that  he  had  as  yet  spoken 
of  them  to  nobody,  not  even  his  wife.  Others  would 
doubtless  have  mocked  at  him,  for  he  had  as  yet  but 
reached  that  dim,  quivering  hour  when  inventors  feel  the 
gust  of  their  discovery  sweep  over  them,  before  the  idea 
that  they  are  revolving  presents  itself  with  full  precision  to 
their  minds.  Yet  why  did  he  not  address  himself  to  the 
soil,  man's  everlasting  provider  and  nurse  ?  Why  did  he 
not  clear  and  fertilize  those  far-spreading  lands,  those 
woods,  those  heaths,  those  stretches  of  stony  ground  which 
were  left  sterile  around  him  ?  Since  it  was  just  that  each 
man  should  bring  his  contribution  to  the  common  weal, 
create  subsistence  for  himself  and  his  offspring,  why  should 
not  he,  at  the  advent  of  each  new  child,  supply  a  new  field 
of  fertile  earth  which  would  give  that  child  food,  without 
cost  to  the  community  ?  That  was  his  sole  idea ;  it  took 
no  more  precise  shape ;  at  the  thought  of  realizing  it  he 
was  carried  off  into  splendid  dreams. 

The  Froments  had  been  in  the  country  fully  a  month 
when  one  evening  Marianne,  wheeling  Gervais's  little 
carriage  in  front  of  her,  came  as  far  as  the  bridge  over  the 
Yeuse  to  await  Mathieu,  who  had  promised  to  return  early. 
Indeed,  he  got  there  before  six  o'clock.  And  as  the  even- 
ing was  fine,  it  occurred  to  Marianne  to  go  as  far  as  the 
Lepailleurs'  mill  down  the  river,  and  buy  some  new-laid 
eggs  there. 

"  I'm  willing,"  said  Mathieu.  "  I'm  very  fond  of  their 
romantic  old  mill,  you  know ;  though  if  it  were  mine  I 


1 14  FRUITFULNESS 

should  pull  it  down  and  build  another  one  with  proper 
appliances." 

In  the  yard  of  the  picturesque  old  building,  half  covered 
with  ivy,  with  its  mossy  wheel  slumbering  amid  water-lilies, 
they  found  the  Lepailleurs,  the  man  tall,  dry,  and  carroty, 
the  woman  as  carroty  and  as  dry  as  himself,  but  both  of 
them  young  and  hardy.  Their  child  Antonin  was  sitting 
on  the  ground,  digging  a  hole  with  his  little  hands. 

"  Eggs  ?  "  La  Lepailleur  exclaimed  ;  "  yes,  certainly, 
madame,  there  must  be  some." 

She  made  no  haste  to  fetch  them,  however,  but 
stood  looking  at  Gervais,  who  was  asleep  in  his  little 
vehicle. 

"  Ah  !  so  that's  your  last.  He's  plump  and  pretty  enough, 
I  must  say,"  she  remarked. 

But  Lepailleur  raised  a  derisive  laugh,  and  with  the 
familiarity  which  the  peasant  displays  towards  the  bourgeois 
whom  he  knows  to  be  hard  up,  he  said  :  "  And  so  that 
makes  you  five,  monsieur.  Ah,  well !  that  would  be  a  deal 
too  many  for  poor  folks  like  us." 

"  Why  ?  "  Mathieu  quietly  inquired.  u  Haven't  you 
got  this  mill,  and  don't  you  own  fields,  to  give  labor  to  the 
arms  that  would  come  and  whose  labor  would  double  and 
treble  your  produce  ?  " 

These  simple  words  were  like  a  whipstroke  that  made 
Lepailleur  rear.  And  once  again  he  poured  forth  all  his 
spite.  Ah  !  surely  now,  it  wasn't  his  tumble-down  old  mill 
that  would  ever  enrich  him,  since  it  had  enriched  neither 
his  father  nor  his  grandfather.  And  as  for  his  fields,  well, 
that  was  a  pretty  dowry  that  his  wife  had  brought  him,  land 
in  which  nothing  more  would  grow,  and  which,  however 
much  one  might  water  it  with  one's  sweat,  did  not  even 
pay  for  manuring  and  sowing. 

"  But  in  the  first  place,"  resumed  Mathieu,  "  your  mill 
ought  to  be  repaired  and  its  old  mechanism  replaced,  or, 
better  still,  you  should  buy  a  good  steam-engine." 

"  Repair  the  mill !  Buy  an  engine  !  Why,  that's  mad- 
ness," the  other  replied.  "  What  would  be  the  use  of  it  ? 


FRUITFULNESS  115 

As  it  is,  people  hereabouts  have  almost  renounced  growing 
corn,  and  I  remain  idle  every  other  month." 

"  And  then,"  continued  Mathieu,  "  if  your  fields  yield 
less,  it  is  because  you  cultivate  them  badly,  following  the 
old  routine,  without  proper  care  or  appliances  or  artificial 
manure." 

"  Appliances !  Artificial  manure  !  All  that  humbug 
which  has  only  sent  poor  folks  to  rack  and  ruin  !  Ah  !  I 
should  just  like  to  see  you  trying  to  cultivate  the  land  better, 
and  make  it  yield  what  it'll  never  yield  any  more." 

Thereupon  he  quite  lost  his  temper,  became  violent  and 
brutal,  launching  against  the  ungrateful  earth  all  the  charges 
which  his  love  of  idleness  and  his  obstinacy  suggested.  He 
had  travelled,  he  had  fought  in  Africa  as  a  soldier,  folks 
could  not  say  that  he  had  always  lived  in  his  hole  like  an 
ignorant  beast.  But,  none  the  less,  on  leaving  his  regiment 
he  had  lost  all  taste  for  work  and  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  agriculture  was  doomed,  and  would  never  give  him 
aught  but  dry  bread  to  eat.  The  land  would  soon  be  bank- 
rupt, and  the  peasantry  no  longer  believed  in  it,  so  old  and 
empty  and  worn  out  had  it  become.  And  even  the  sun  got 
out  of  order  nowadays  ;  they  had  snow  in  July  and  thunder- 
storms in  December,  a  perfect  upsetting  of  seasons,  which 
wrecked  the  crops  almost  before  they  were  out  of  the  ground. 

"  No,  monsieur,"  said  Lepailleur,  "  what  you  say  is 
impossible ;  it's  all  past.  The  soil  and  work,  there's  noth- 
ing left  of  either.  It's  barefaced  robbery,  and  though  the 
peasant  may  kill  himself  with  labor,  he  will  soon  be  left 
without  even  water  to  drink.  Children  indeed  !  No,  no  ! 
There's  Antonin,  of  course,  and  for  him  we  may  just  be 
able  to  provide.  But  I  assure  you  that  I  won't  even  make 
Antonin  a  peasant  against  his  will !  If  he  takes  to  school- 
ing and  wishes  to  go  to  Paris,  I  shall  tell  him  that  he's 
quite  right,  for  Paris  is  nowadays  the  only  chance  for  sturdy 
chaps  who  want  to  make  a  fortune.  So  he  will  be  at  liberty 
to  sell  everything,  if  he  chooses,  and  try  his  luck  there. 
The  only  thing  that  I  regret  is  that  I  didn't  make  the  ven- 
ture myself  when  there  was  still  time." 


n6  FRUITFULNESS 

Mathieu  began  to  laugh.  Was  it  not  singular  that  he, 
a  bourgeois  with  a  bachelor's  degree  and  scientific  attain- 
ments, should  dream  of  coming  back  to  the  soil,  to  the 
common  mother  of  all  labor  and  wealth,  when  this  peasant, 
sprung  from  peasants,  cursed  and  insulted  the  earth,  and 
hoped  that  his  son  would  altogether  renounce  it  ?  Never 
had  anything  struck  him  as  more  significant.  It  symbolized 
that  disastrous  exodus  from  the  rural  districts  towards  the 
towns,  an  exodus  which  year  by  year  increased,  unhinging 
the  nation  and  reducing  it  to  anaemia. 

"  You  are  wrong,"  he  said  in  a  jovial  way  so  as  to  drive 
all  bitterness  from  the  discussion.  "  Don't  be  unfaithful 
to  the  earth ;  she's  an  old  mistress  who  would  revenge  her- 
self. In  your  place  I  would  lay  myself  out  to  obtain  from 
her,  by  increase  of  care,  all  that  I  might  want.  As  in  the 
world's  early  days,  she  is  still  the  great  fruitful  spouse, 
and  she  yields  abundantly  when  she  is  loved  in  proper 
fashion." 

But  Lepailleur,  raising  his  fists,  retorted  :  "  No,  no ;  I've 
had  enough  of  her  !  " 

"  And,  by  the  way,"  continued  Mathieu,  "  one  thing 
which  astonishes  me  is  that  no  courageous,  intelligent  man 
has  ever  yet  come  forward  to  do  something  with  all  that 
vast  abandoned  estate  yonder  —  that  Chantebled  —  which 
old  Seguin,  formerly,  dreamt  of  turning  into  a  princely 
domain.  There  are  great  stretches  of  waste  land,  woods 
which  one  might  partly  fell,  heaths  and  moorland  which 
might  easily  be  restored  to  cultivation.  What  a  splen- 
did task !  What  a  work  of  creation  for  a  bold  man  to 
undertake ! " 

This  so  amazed  Lepailleur  that  he  stood  there  open- 
mouthed.  Then  his  jeering  spirit  asserted  itself:  "But, 
my  dear  sir  —  excuse  my  saying  it  —  you  must  be  mad! 
Cultivate  Chantebled,  clear  those  stony  tracts,  wade  about 
in  those  marshes !  Why,  one  might  bury  millions  there 
without  reaping  a  single  bushel  of  oats  !  It's  a  cursed  spot, 
which  my  grandfather's  father  saw  such  as  it  is  now,  and 
which  my  grandson's  son  will  see  just  the  same.  Ah  ! 


FRUITFULNESS  117 

well,  I'm  not  inquisitive,  but  it  would  really  amuse  me  to 
meet  the  fool  who  might  attempt  such  madness." 

"  Man  Dieu,  who  knows  ?  "  Mathieu  quietly  concluded. 
"When  one  only  loves  strongly  one  may  work  miracles." 

La  Lepailleur,  after  going  to  fetch  a  dozen  eggs,  now 
stood  erect  before  her  husband  in  admiration  at  hearing  him 
talk  so  eloquently  to  a  bourgeois.  They  agreed  very  well 
together  in  their  avaricious  rage  at  being  unable  to  amass 
money  by  the  handful  without  any  great  exertion,  and  in 
their  ambition  to  make  their  son  a  gentleman,  since  only  a 
gentleman  could  become  wealthy.  And  thus,  as  Marianne 
was  going  off  after  placing  the  eggs  under  a  cushion  in 
Gervais'  little  carriage,  the  other  complacently  called  her 
attention  to  Antonin,  who,  having  made  a  hole  in  the 
ground,  was  now  spitting  into  it. 

"Oh!  he's  smart,"  said  she;  "he  knows  his  alphabet 
already,  and  we  are  going  to  put  him  to  school.  If  he 
takes  after  his  father  he  will  be  no  fool,  I  assure  you." 

It  was  on  a  Sunday,  some  ten  days  later,  that  the  supreme 
revelation,  the  great  flash  of  light  which  was  to  decide  his 
life  and  that  of  those  he  loved,  fell  suddenly  upon  Mathieu 
during  a  walk  he  took  with  his  wife  and  the  children.  They 
had  gone  out  for  the  whole  afternoon,  taking  a  little  snack 
with  them  in  order  that  they  might  share  it  amid  the  long 
grass  in  the  fields.  And  after  scouring  the  paths,  crossing 
the  copses,  rambling  over  the  moorland,  they  came  back 
to  the  verge  of  the  woods  and  sat  down  under  an  oak. 
Thence  the  whole  expanse  spread  out  before  them,  from 
the  little  pavilion  where  they  dwelt  to  the  distant  village 
of  Janville.  On  their  right  was  the  great  marshy  plateau, 
from  which  broad,  dry,  sterile  slopes  descended ;  while 
lower  ground  stretched  away  on  their  left.  Then,  behind 
them,  spread  the  woods  with  deep  thickets  parted  by  clear- 
ings, full  of  herbage  which  no  scythe  had  ever  touched. 
And  not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen  around  them  ;  there  was 
naught  save  wild  Nature,  grandly  quiescent  under  the 
bright  sun  of  that  splendid  April  day.  The  earth  seemed 
to  be  dilating  with  all  the  sap  amassed  within  it,  and  a 


ii8  FRUITFULNESS 

flood  of  life  could  be  felt  rising  and  quivering  in  the  vigor- 
ous trees,  the  spreading  plants,  and  the  impetuous  growth 
of  brambles  and  nettles  which  stretched  invadingly  over 
the  soil.  And  on  all  sides  a  powerful,  pungent  odor  was 
diffused. 

"  Don't  go  too  far,"  Marianne  called  to  the  children ; 
"  we  shall  stay  under  this  oak.  We  will  have  something 
to  eat  by  and  by." 

Blaise  and  Denis  were  already  bounding  along,  followed 
by  Ambroise,  to  see  who  could  run  the  fastest  ;  but  Rose 
pettishly  called  them  back,  for  she  preferred  to  play  at 
gathering  wild  flowers.  The  open  air  fairly  intoxicated  the 
youngsters ;  the  herbage  rose,  here  and  there,  to  their  very 
shoulders.  But  they  came  back  and  gathered  flowers ;  and 
after  a  time  they  set  off  at  a  wild  run  once  more,  one  of 
the  big  brothers  carrying  the  little  sister  on  his  back. 

Mathieu,  however,  had  remained  absent-minded,  with  his 
eyes  wandering  hither  and  thither,  throughout  their  walk. 
At  times  he  did  not  hear  Marianne  when  she  spoke  to 
him ;  he  lapsed  into  reverie  before  some  uncultivated  tract, 
some  copse  overrun  with  brushwood,  some  spring  which 
suddenly  bubbled  up  and  was  then  lost  in  mire.  Never- 
theless, she  felt  that  there  was  no  sadness  nor  feeling  of 
indifference  in  his  heart ;  for  as  soon  as  he  returned  to  her 
he  laughed  once  more  with  his  soft,  loving  laugh.  It  was 
she  who  often  sent  him  roaming  about  the  country,  even 
alone,  for  she  felt  that  it  would  do  him  good ;  and  although 
she  had  guessed  that  something  very  serious  was  passing 
through  his  mind,  she  retained  full  confidence,  waiting  till 
it  should  please  him  to  speak  to  her. 

Now,  however,  just  as  he  had  sunk  once  more  into  his 
reverie,  his  glance  wandering  afar,  studying  the  great  varied 
expanse  of  land,  she  raised  a  light  cry  :  "  Oh  !  look,  look  !  " 

Under  the  big  oak  tree  she  had  placed  Master  Gervais 
in  his  little  carriage,  among  wild  weeds  which  hid  its 
wheels.  And  while  she  handed  a  little  silver  mug,  from 
which  it  was  intended  they  should  drink  while  taking  their 
snack,  she  had  noticed  that  the  child  raised  his  head  and 


FRUITFULNESS  119 

followed  the  movement  of  her  hand,  in  which  the  silver 
sparkled  beneath  the  sun-rays.  Forthwith  she  repeated  the 
experiment,  and  again  the  child's  eyes  followed  the  starry 
gleam. 

41  Ah !  it  can't  be  said  that  I'm  mistaken,  and  am  simply 
fancying  it !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  is  certain  that  he  can 
see  quite  plainly  now.  My  pretty  pet,  my  little  darling  ! " 

She  darted  to  the  child  to  kiss  him  in  celebration  of  that 
first  clear  glance.  And  then,  too,  came  the  delight  of  the 
first  smile. 

"  Why,  look !  "  in  his  turn  said  Mathieu,  who  was  lean- 
ing over  the  child  beside  her,  yielding  to  the  same  feeling 
of  rapture,  "  there  he  is  smiling  at  you  now.  But  of  course, 
as  soon  as  these  little  fellows  see  clearly  they  begin  to  laugh." 

She  herself  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  You  are  right,  he  is 
laughing  !  Ah  !  how  funny  he  looks,  and  how  happy  I  am  ! '? 

Both  father  and  mother  laughed  together  with  content  at 
the  sight  of  that  infantile  smile,  vague  and  fleeting,  like  a 
faint  ripple  on  the  pure  water  of  some  spring. 

Amid  this  joy  Marianne  called  the  four  others,  who  were 
bounding  under  the  young  foliage  around  them  :  "  Come, 
Rose !  come,  Ambroise !  come,  Blaise  and  Denis !  It's 
time  now ;  come  at  once  to  have  something  to  eat." 

They  hastened  up  and  the  snack  was  set  out  on  a  patch 
of  soft  grass.  Mathieu  unhooked  the  basket  which  hung 
in  front  of  the  baby's  little  vehicle ;  and  Marianne,  having 
drawn  some  slices  of  bread-and-butter  from  it,  proceeded 
to  distribute  them.  Perfect  silence  ensued  while  all  four 
children  began  biting  with  hearty  appetite,  which  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  see.  But  all  at  once  a  scream  arose.  It  came 
from  Master  Gervais,  who  was  vexed  at  not  having  been 
served  first. 

"  Ah !  yes,  it's  true  I  was  forgetting  you,"  said  Marianne 
gayly ;  "  you  shall  have  your  share.  There,  open  your 
mouth,  you  darling ; "  and,  with  an  easy,  simple  gesture, 
she  unfastened  her  dress-body ;  and  then,  under  the  sun- 
light which  steeped  her  in  golden  radiance,  in  full  view  of 
the  far-spreading  countryside,  where  all  likewise  was  bare 


iio  FRUITFULNESS 

—  the  soil,  the  trees,  the  plants,  streaming  with  sap  — 
having  seated  herself  in  the  long  grass,  where  she  almost  dis- 
appeared amid  the  swarming  growth  of  April's  germs,  the 
babe  on  her  breast  eagerly  sucked  in  her  warm  milk,  even  as 
all  the  encompassing  verdure  was  sucking  life  from  the  soil. 

"  How  hungry  you  are  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Don't  pinch 
me  so  hard,  you  little  glutton  ! " 

Meantime  Mathieu  had  remained  standing  amid  the 
enchantment  of  the  child's  first  smile  and  the  gayety  born 
of  the  hearty  hunger  around  him.  Then  his  dream  of 
creation  came  back  to  him,  and  he  at  last  gave  voice  to 
those  plans  for  the  future  which  haunted  him,  and  of  which 
he  had  so  far  spoken  to  nobody :  "  Ah,  well,  it  is  high  time 
that  I  should  set  to  work  and  found  a  kingdom,  if  these 
children  are  to  have  enough  soup  to  make  them  grow. 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  I've  thought  —  shall  I  tell  you  ?  " 

Marianne  raised  her  eyes,  smiling  and  all  attention. 
"  Yes,  tell  me  your  secret  if  the  time  has  come.  Oh  !  I 
could  guess  that  you  had  some  great  hope  in  you.  But 
I  did  not  ask  you  anything;  I  preferred  to  wait." 

He  did  not  give  a  direct  reply,  for  at  a  sudden  recollec- 
tion his  feelings  rebelled.  "  That  Lepailleur,"  said  he,  "  is 
simply  a  lazy  fellow  and  a  fool  in  spite  of  all  his  cunning 
airs.  Can  there  be  any  more  sacrilegious  folly  than  to  im- 
agine that  the  earth  has  lost  her  fruitfulness  and  is  becom- 
ing bankrupt —  she,  the  eternal  mother,  eternal  life  ?  She 
only  shows  herself  a  bad  mother  to  her  bad  sons,  the  mali- 
cious, the  obstinate,  and  the  dull-witted,  who  do  not  know 
how  to  love  and  cultivate  her.  But  if  an  intelligent  son 
comes  and  devotes  himself  to  her,  and  works  her  with  the 
help  of  experience  and  all  the  new  systems  of  science,  you 
will  soon  see  her  quicken  and  yield  tremendous  harvests 
unceasingly.  Ah  !  folks  say  in  the  district  that  this  estate 
of  Chantebled  has  never  yielded  and  never  will  yield  any- 
thing but  nettles.  Well,  nevertheless,  a  man  will  come 
who  will  transform  it  and  make  it  a  new  land  of  joy  and 
abundance." 

Then,  suddenly  turning  round,  with   outstretched  arm, 


FRUITFULNESS  121 

and  pointing  to  the  spots  to  which  he  referred  in  turn,  he 
went  on  :  "  Yonder  in  the  rear  there  are  nearly  five  hundred 
acres  of  little  woods,  stretching  as  far  as  the  farms  of  Ma- 
reuil  and  Lillebonne.  They  are  separated  by  clearings  of 
excellent  soil  which  broad  gaps  unite,  and  which  could  easily 
be  turned  into  good  pastures,  for  there  are  numerous  springs. 
And,  indeed,  the  springs  become  so  abundant  on  the  right, 
that  they  have  changed  that  big  plateau  into  a  kind  of  marsh- 
land, dotted  with  ponds,  and  planted  with  reeds  and  rushes. 
But  picture  a  man  of  bold  mind,  a  clearer,  a  conqueror, 
who  should  drain  those  lands  and  rid  them  of  superfluous 
water  by  means  of  a  few  canals  which  might  easily  be  dug  ! 
Why,  then  a  huge  stretch  of  land  would  be  reclaimed, 
handed  over  to  cultivation,  and  wheat  would  grow  there 
with  extraordinary  vigor.  But  that  is  not  all.  There  is 
the  expanse  before  us,  those  gentle  slopes  from  Janville  to 
Vieux-Bourg,  that  is  another  five  hundred  acres,  which  are 
left  almost  uncultivated  on  account  of  their  dryness,  the 
stony  poverty  of  their  soil.  So  it  is  all  very  simple.  One 
would  merely  have  to  take  the  sources  up  yonder,  the 
waters,  now  stagnant,  and  carry  them  across  those  sterile 
slopes,  which,  when  irrigated,  would  gradually  develop 
extraordinary  fertility.  I  have  seen  everything,  I  have 
studied  everything.  I  feel  that  there  are  at  least  twelve 
hundred  acres  of  land  which  a  bold  creator  might  turn  into 
a  most  productive  estate.  Yonder  lies  a  whole  kingdom  of 
corn,  a  whole  new  world  to  be  created  by  labor,  with  the 
help  of  the  beneficent  waters  and  our  father  the  sun,  the 
source  of  eternal  life." 

Marianne  gazed  at  him  and  admired  him  as  he  stood 
there  quivering,  pondering  over  all  that  he  evoked  from  his 
dream.  But  she  was  frightened  by  the  vastness  of  such  hopes, 
and  could  not  restrain  a  cry  of  disquietude  and  prudence. 

"  No,  no,  that  is  too  much  ;  you  desire  the  impossible. 
How  can  you  think  that  we  shall  ever  possess  so  much  — 
that  our  fortune  will  spread  over  the  entire  region  ?  Think 
of  the  capital,  the  arms  that  would  be  needed  for  such  a 
conquest !  " 


122  FRUITFULNESS 

For  a  moment  Mathieu  remained  silent  on  thus  suddenly 
being  brought  back  to  reality.  Then  with  his  affectionate, 
sensible  air,  he  began  to  laugh.  "  You  are  right ;  I  have 
been  dreaming  and  talking  wildly,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  not 
yet  so  ambitious  as  to  wish  to  be  King  of  Chantebled.  But 
there  is  truth  in  what  I  have  said  to  you;  and,  besides, 
what  harm  can  there  be  in  dreaming  of  great  plans  to  give 
oneself  faith  and  courage  ?  Meantime  I  intend  to  try  cul- 
tivating just  a  few  acres,  which  Seguin  will  no  doubt  sell 
me  cheaply  enough,  together  with  the  little  pavilion  in  which 
we  live.  I  know  that  the  unproductiveness  of  the  estate 
weighs  on  him.  And,  later  on,  we  shall  see  if  the  earth  is 
disposed  to  love  us  and  come  to  us  as  we  go  to  her.  Ah  ! 
well,  my  dear,  give  that  little  glutton  plenty  of  life,  and  you, 
my  darlings,  eat  and  drink  and  grow  in  strength,  for  the 
earth  belongs  to  those  who  are  healthy  and  numerous." 

Blaise  and  Denis  made  answer  by  taking  some  fresh 
slices  of  bread-and-butter,  while  Rose  drained  the  mug  of 
wine  and  water  which  Ambroise  handed  her.  And  Mari- 
anne sat  there  like  the  symbol  of  blossoming  Fruitfulness, 
the  source  of  vigor  and  conquest,  while  Gervais  heartily 
nursed  on.  He  pulled  so  hard,  indeed,  that  one  could  hear 
the  sound  of  his  lips.  It  was  like  the  faint  noise  which 
attends  the  rise  of  a  spring  —  a  slender  rill  of  milk  that  is 
to  swell  and  become  a  river.  Around  her  the  mother  heard 
that  source  springing  up  and  spreading  on  all  sides.  She 
was  not  nourishing  alone  :  the  sap  of  April  was  dilating  the 
land,  sending  a  quiver  through  the  woods,  raising  the  long 
herbage  which  embowered  her.  And  beneath  her,  from  the 
bosom  of  the  earth,  which  was  ever  in  travail,  she  felt  that 
flood  of  sap  reaching  and  ever  pervading  her.  And  it  was 
like  a  stream  of  milk  flowing  through  the  world,  a  stream 
of  eternal  life  for  humanity's  eternal  crop.  And  on  that 
gay  day  of  spring  the  dazzling,  singing,  fragrant  country- 
side was  steeped  in  it  all,  triumphal  with  that  beauty  of  the 
mother,  who,  in  the  full  light  of  the  sun,  in  view  of  the 
vast  horizon,  sat  there  nursing  her  child. 


VIII 

ON  the  morrow,  after  a  morning's  hard  toil  at  his  office 
at  the  works,  Mathieu,  having  things  well  advanced,  be- 
thought himself  of  going  to  see  Norine  at  Madame  Bour- 
dieu's.  He  knew  that  she  had  given  birth  to  a  child  a 
fortnight  previously,  and  he  wished  to  ascertain  the  exact 
state  of  affairs,  in  order  to  carry  to  an  end  the  mission  with 
which  Beauchene  had  intrusted  him.  As  the  other,  how- 
ever, had  never  again  spoken  to  him  on  the  subject,  he 
simply  told  him  that  he  was  going  out*in  the  afternoon, 
without  indicating  the  motive  of  his  absence.  At  the 
same  time  he  knew  what  secret  relief  Beauchene  would 
experience  when  he  at  last  learnt  that  the  whole  business 
was  at  an  end  —  the  child  cast  adrift  and  the  mother 
following  her  own  course. 

On  reaching  the  Rue  de  Miromesnil,  Mathieu  had  to 
go  up  to  Norine's  room,  for  though  she  was  to  leave  the 
house  on  the  following  Thursday,  she  still  kept  her  bed. 
And  at  the  foot  of  the  bedstead,  asleep  in  a  cradle,  he  was 
surprised  to  see  the  infant,  of  which,  he  thought,  she  had 
already  rid  herself. 

"  Oh  !  is  it  you  ?  "  she  joyously  exclaimed.  "  I  was 
about  to  write  to  you,  for  I  wanted  to  see  you  before  going 
away.  My  little  sister  here  would  have  taken  you  the  letter." 

Cecile  Moineaud  was  indeed  there,  together  with  the 
younger  girl,  Irma.  The  mother,  unable  to  absent  herself 
from  her  household  duties,  had  sent  them  to  make  inquiries, 
and  give  Norine  three  big  oranges,  which  glistened  on  the 
table  beside  the  bed.  The  little  girls  had  made  the  journey 
on  foot,  greatly  interested  by  all  the  sights  of  the  streets 
and  the  displays  in  the  shop-windows.  And  now  they 

123 


i24  FRUITFULNESS 

were  enraptured  with  the  fine  house  in  which  they  found 
their  big  sister  sojourning,  and  full  of  curiosity  with 
respect  to  the  baby  which  slept  under  the  cradle's  muslin 
curtains. 

Mathieu  made  the  usual  inquiries  of  Norine,  who 
answered  him  gayly,  but  pouted  somewhat  at  the  prospect 
of  having  so  soon  to  leave  the  house,  where  she  had  found 
herself  so  comfortable. 

"  We  shan't  easily  find  such  soft  mattresses  and  such 
good  food,  eh,  Victoire  ?  "  she  asked.  Whereupon  Mathieu 
perceived  that  another  girl  was  present,  a  pale  little  creature 
with  wavy  red  hair,  tip-tilted  nose,  and  long  mouth,  whom 
he  had  already  seen  there  on  the  occasion  of  a  previous 
visit.  She  slept  in  one  of  the  two  other  beds  which  the 
room  contained,  and  now  sat  beside  it  mending  some  linen. 
She  was  to  leave  the  house  on  the  morrow,  having  already 
sent  her  child  to  &e  Foundling  Hospital ;  and  in  the  mean- 
time she  was  mending  some  things  for  Rosine,  the  well- 
to-do  young  person  of  great  beauty  whom  Mathieu  had 
previously  espied,  and  whose  story,  according  to  Norine,  was 
so  sadly  pathetic. 

Victoire  ceased  sewing  and  raised  her  head.  She  was  a 
servant  girl  by  calling,  one  of  those  unlucky  creatures  who 
are  overtaken  by  trouble  when  they  have  scarce  arrived  in 
the  great  city  from  their  native  village.  "  Well,"  said  she, 
"  it's  quite  certain  that  one  won't  be  able  to  dawdle  in  bed, 
and  that  one  won't  have  warm  milk  given  one  to  drink 
before  getting  up.  But,  all  the  same,  it  isn't  lively  to  see 
nothing  but  that  big  gray  wall  yonder  from  the  window. 
And,  besides,  one  can't  go  on  forever  doing  nothing." 

Norine  laughed  and  jerked  her  head,  as  if  she  were  not 
of  this  opinion.  Then,  as  her  little  sisters  embarrassed 
her,  she  wished  to  get  rid  of  them. 

"  And  so,  my  pussies,"  said  she,  "  you  say  that  papa's 
still  angry  with  me,  and  that  I'm  not  to  go  back  home." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Cecile,  "  it's  not  so  much  that  he's  angry, 
but  he  says  that  all  the  neighbors  would  point  their  fingers 
at  him  if  he  let  you  come  home.  Besides,  Euphrasie  keeps 


FRUITFULNESS  125 

his  anger  up,  particularly  since  she's  arranged  to  get 
married." 

"  What !  Euphrasie  going  to  be  married  ?  You  didn't 
tell  me  that." 

Norine  looked  very  vexed,  particularly  when  her  sisters, 
speaking  both  together,  told  her  that  the  future  husband  was 
Auguste  Benard,  a  jovial  young  mason  who  lived  on  the 
floor  above  them.  He  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Euphrasie, 
though  she  had  no  good  looks,  and  was  as  thin,  at  eighteen, 
as  a  grasshopper.  Doubtless,  however,  he  considered  her 
strong  and  hard-working. 

"  Much  good  may  it  do  them  !  "  said  Norine  spitefully. 
"  Why,  with  her  evil  temper,  she'll  be  beating  him  before 
six  months  are  over.  You  can  just  tell  mamma  that  I  don't 
care  a  rap  for  any  of  you,  and  that  I  need  nobody.  I'll  go 
and  look  for  work,  and  I'll  find  somebody  to  help  me.  So, 
you  hear,  don't  you  come  back  here.  I  don't  want  to  be 
bothered  by  you  any  more." 

At  this,  Irma,  but  eight  years  old  and  tender-hearted, 
began  to  cry.  "  Why  do  you  scold  us  ?  We  didn't  come 
to  worry  you.  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  too,  if  that  baby's 
yours,  and  if  we  may  kiss  it  before  we  go  away." 

Norine  immediately  regretted  her  spiteful  outburst.  She 
once  more  called  the  girls  her  "  little  pussies,"  kissed  them 
tenderly,  and  told  them  that  although  they  must  run  away 
now  they  might  come  back  another  day  to  see  her  if  it 
amused  them.  "  Thank  mamma  from  me  for  her  oranges. 
And  as  for  the  baby,  well,  you  may  look  at  it,  but  you 
mustn't  touch  it,  for  if  it  woke  up  we  shouldn't  be  able  to 
hear  ourselves." 

Then,  as  the  two  children  leant  inquisitively  over  the 
cradle,  Mathieu  also  glanced  at  it,  and  saw  a  healthy,  sturdy- 
looking  child,  with  a  square  face  and  strong  features.  And 
it  seemed  to  him  that  the  infant  was  singularly  like  Beau- 
chene. 

At  that  moment,  however,  Madame  Bourdieu  came  in, 
accompanied  by  a  woman,  whom  he  recognized  as  Sophie 
Couteau,  "  La  Couteau,"  that  nurse-agent  whom  he  had 


126  FRUITFULNESS 

seen  at  the  Seguins'  one  day  when  she  had  gone  thither  to 
offer  to  procure  them  a  nurse.  She  also  certainly  recognized 
this  gentleman,  whose  wife,  proud  of  being  able  to  suckle 
her  own  children,  had  evinced  such  little  inclination  to  help 
others  to  do  business.  She  pretended,  however,  that  she 
saw  him  for  the  first  time ;  for  she  was  discreet  by  profes- 
sion and  not  even  inquisitive,  since  so  many  matters  were 
ever  coming  to  her  knowledge  without  the  asking, 

Little  Cecile  and  little  Irma  went  off  at  once ;  and  then 
Madame  Bourdieu,  addressing  Norine,  inquired  :  "  Well, 
my  child,  have  you  thought  it  over ;  have  you  quite  made 
up  your  mind  about  that  poor  little  darling,  who  is  sleeping 
there  so  prettily  ?  Here  is  the  person  I  spoke  to  you  about. 
She  comes  from  Normandy  every  fortnight,  bringing  nurses 
to  Paris ;  and  each  time  she  takes  babies  away  with  her  to 
put  them  out  to  nurse  in  the  country.  Though  you  say 
you  won't  feed  it,  you  surely  need  not  cast  off  your  child 
altogether ;  you  might  confide  it  to  this  person  until  you  are 
in  a  position  to  take  it  back.  Or  else,  if  you  have  made 
up  your  mind  to  abandon  it  altogether,  she  will  kindly  take 
it  to  the  Foundling  Hospital  at  once." 

Great  perturbation  had  come  over  Norine,  who  let  her 
head  fall  back  on  her  pillow,  over  which  streamed  her  thick 
fair  hair,  whilst  her  face  darkened  and  she  stammered  :  "  Mon 
Dieu,  man  Dieu  !  you  are  going  to  worry  me  again  !  " 

Then  she  pressed  her  hands  to  her  eyes  as  if  anxious  to 
see  nothing  more. 

"This  is  what  the  regulations  require  of  me,  monsieur," 
said  Madame  Bourdieu  to  Mathieu  in  an  undertone,  while 
leaving  the  young  mother  for  a  moment  to  her  reflections. 
"  We  are  recommended  to  do  all  we  can  to  persuade  our 
boarders,  especially  when  they  are  situated  like  this  one,  to 
nurse  their  infants.  You  are  aware  that  this  often  saves 
not  only  the  child,  but  the  mother  herself,  from  the  sad 
future  which  threatens  her.  And  so,  however  much  she 
may  wish  to  abandon  the  child,  we  leave  it  near  her  as  long 
as  possible,  and  feed  it  with  the  bottle,  in  the  hope  that  the 
sight  of  the  poor  little  creature  may  touch  her  heart  and 


FRUITFULNESS  127 

awaken  feelings  of  motherliness  in  her.  Nine  times  out  of 
ten,  as  soon  as  she  gives  the  child  the  breast,  she  is  van- 
quished, and  she  keeps  it.  That  is  why  you  still  see  this 
baby  here." 

Mathieu,  feeling  greatly  moved,  drew  near  to  Norine, 
who  still  lay  back  amid  her  streaming  hair,  with  her  hands 
pressed  to  her  face.  "  Come,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  good- 
hearted  girl,  there  is  no  malice  in  you.  Why  not  yourself 
keep  that  dear  little  fellow  ?  " 

Then  she  uncovered  her  burning,  tearless  face  :  "  Did 
the  father  even  come  to  see  me  ?  "  she  asked  bitterly.  "  I 
can't  love  the  child  of  a  man  who  has  behaved  as  he  has  ! 
The  mere  thought  that  it's  there,  in  that  cradle,  puts  me  in 
a  rage." 

"  But  that  dear  little  innocent  isn't  guilty.  It's  he  whom 
you  condemn,  yourself  whom  you  punish,  for  now  you  will 
be  quite  alone,  and  he  might  prove  a  great  consolation." 

"  No,  I  tell  you  no,  I  won't.  I  can't  keep  a  child  like 
that  with  nobody  to  help  me.  We  all  know  what  we  can 
do,  don't  we  ?  Well,  it  is  of  no  use  my  questioning  my- 
self. I'm  not  brave  enough,  I'm  not  stupid  enough  to  do 
such  a  thing.  No,  no,  and  no." 

He  said  no  more,  for  he  realized  that  nothing  would  pre- 
vail over  that  thirst  for  liberty  which  she  felt  in  the  depths 
of  her  being.  With  a  gesture  he  expressed  his  sadness, 
but  he  was  neither  indignant  nor  angry  with  her,  for  others 
had  made  her  what  she  was. 

"  Well,  it's  understood,  you  won't  be  forced  to  feed  it," 
resumed  Madame  Bourdieu,  attempting  a  final  effort.  "  But 
it  isn't  praiseworthy  to  abandon  the  child.  Why  not  trust 
it  to  Madame  here,  who  would  put  it  out  to  nurse,  so  that 
you  would  be  able  to  take  it  back  some  day,  when  you  have 
found  work  ?  It  wouldn't  cost  much,  and  no  doubt  the 
father  would  pay." 

This  time  Norine  flew  into  a  passion.  "  He !  pay  ? 
Ah  !  you  don't  know  him.  It's  not  that  the  money  would 
inconvenience  him,  for  he's  a  millionnaire.  But  all  he 
wants  is  to  see  the  little  one  disappear.  If  he  had  dared  he 


128  FRUITFULNESS 

would  have  told  me  to  kill  it !  Just  ask  that  gentleman  if 
I  speak  the  truth.  You  see  that  he  keeps  silent !  And  how 
am  I  to  pay  when  I  haven't  a  copper,  when  to-morrow  I 
shall  be  cast  out-of-doors,  perhaps,  without  work  and  with- 
out bread.  No,  no,  a  thousand  times  no,  I  can't !  " 

Then,  overcome  by  an  hysterical  fit  of  despair,  she  burst 
into  sobs.  "  I  beg  you,  leave  me  in  peace.  For  the  last 
fortnight  you  have  been  torturing  me  with  that  child,  by 
keeping  him  near  me,  with  the  idea  that  I  should  end  by 
nursing  him.  You  bring  him  to  me,  and  set  him  on  my 
knees,  so  that  I  may  look  at  him  and  kiss  him.  You  are 
always  worrying  me  with  him,  and  making  him  cry  with 
the  hope  that  I  shall  pity  him  and  take  him  to  my  breast. 
But,  man  Dieu !  can't  you  understand  that  if  I  turn  my 
head  away,  if  I  don't  want  to  kiss  him  or  even  to  see  him, 
it  is  because  I'm  afraid  of  being  caught  and  loving  him  like 
a  big  fool,  which  would  be  a  great  misfortune  both  for  him 
and  for  me  ?  He'll  be  far  happier  by  himself!  So,  I  beg 
you,  let  him  be  taken  away  at  once,  and  don't  torture  me 
any  more." 

Sobbing  violently,  she  again  sank  back  in  bed,  and  buried 
her  dishevelled  head  in  the  pillows. 

La  Couteau  had  remained  waiting,  mute  and  motionless, 
at  the  foot  of  the  bedstead.  In  her  gown  of  dark  woollen 
stuff  and  her  black  cap  trimmed  with  yellow  ribbons  she 
retained  the  air  of  a  peasant  woman  in  her  Sunday  best. 
And  she  strove  to  impart  an  expression  of  compassionate 
good-nature  to  her  long,  avaricious,  false  face.  Although 
it  seemed  to  her  unlikely  that  business  would  ensue,  she 
risked  a  repetition  of  her  customary  speech. 

"  At  Rougemont,  you  know,  madame,  your  little  one 
would  be  just  the  same  as  at  home.  There's  no  better  air  in 
the  Department ;  people  come  there  from  Bayeux  to  recruit 
their  health.  And  if  you  only  knew  how  well  the  little 
ones  are  cared  for  !  It's  the  only  occupation  of  the  district, 
to  have  little  Parisians  to  coddle  and  love !  And,  besides, 
I  wouldn't  charge  you  dear.  I've  a  friend  of  mine  who 
already  has  three  nurslings,  and,  as  she  naturally  brings  them 


FRUITFULNESS  129' 

up  with  the  bottle,  it  wouldn't  put  her  out  to  take  a  fourth 
for  almost  next  to  nothing.  Come,  doesn't  that  suit  you  — 
doesn't  that  tempt  you  ?  " 

When,  however,  she  saw  that  tears  were  Norine's  only 
answer,  she  made  an  impatient  gesture  like  an  active  woman 
who  cannot  afford  to  lose  her  time.  At  each  of  her  fort- 
nightly journeys,  as  soon  as  she  had  rid  herself  of  her  batch 
of  nurses  at  the  different  offices,  she  hastened  round  the 
nurses'  establishments  to  pick  up  infants,  so  as  to  take  the 
train  homewards  the  same  evening  together  with  two  or 
three  women  who,  as  she  put  it,  helped  her  "  to  cart  the 
little  ones  about."  On  this  occasion  she  was  in  a  greater 
hurry,  as  Madame  Bourdieu,  who  employed  her  in  a  variety 
of  ways,  had  asked  her  to  take  Norine's  child  to  the  Found- 
ling Hospital  if  she  did  not  take  it  to  Rougemont. 

"  And  so,"  said  La  Couteau,  turning  to  Madame  Bour- 
dieu, "  I  shall  have  only  the  other  lady's  child  to  take  back 
with  me.  Well,  I  had  better  see  her  at  once  to  make  final 
arrangements.  Then  I'll  take  this  one  and  carry  it  yon- 
der as  fast  as  possible,  for  my  train  starts  at  six  o'clock." 

When  La  Couteau  and  Madame  Bourdieu  had  gone  off 
to  speak  to  Rosine,  who  was  the  "  other  lady  "  referred  to, 
the  room  sank  into  silence  save  for  the  wailing  and  sobbing 
of  Norine.  Mathieu  had  seated  himself  near  the  cradle, 
gazing  compassionately  at  the  poor  little  babe,  who  was  still 
peacefully  sleeping.  Soon,  however,  Victoire,  the  little 
servant  girl,  who  had  hitherto  remained  silent,  as  if  absorbed 
in  her  sewing,  broke  the  heavy  silence  and  talked  on  slowly 
and  interminably  without  raising  her  eyes  from  her  needle. 

"  You  were  quite  right  in  not  trusting  your  child  to  that 
horrid  woman!"  she  began.  "Whatever  may  be  done 
with  him  at  the  hospital,  he  will  be  better  off  there  than  in 
her  hands.  At  least  he  will  have  a  chance  to  live.  And 
that's  why  I  insisted,  like  you,  on  having  mine  taken  there 
at  once.  You  know  I  belong  in  that  woman's  region  — 
yes,  I  come  from  Berville,  which  is  barely  four  miles  from 
Rougemont,  and  I  can't  help  knowing  La  Couteau,  for  folks 
talk  enough  about  her  in  our  village.  She's  a  nice  creature 

o  O 

K 


ijo  FRUITFULNESS 

and  no  mistake !  And  it's  a  fine  trade  that  she  plies,  sell- 
ing other  people's  milk.  She  was  no  better  than  she  should 
be  at  one  time,  but  at  last  she  was  lucky  enough  to  marry 
a  big,  coarse,  brutal  fellow,  whom  at  this  time  of  day  she 
leads  by  the  nose.  And  he  helps  her.  Yes,  he  also  brings 
nurses  to  Paris  and  takes  babies  back  with  him,  at  busy  times. 
But  between  them  they  have  more  murders  on  their  con- 
sciences than  all  the  assassins  that  have  ever  been  guillotined. 
The  mayor  of  Berville,  a  bourgeois  who's  retired  from  busi- 
ness and  a  worthy  man,  said  that  Rougemont  was  the  curse 
of  the  Department.  I  know  well  enough  that  there's 
always  been  some  rivalry  between  Rougemont  and  Berville; 
but,  the  folks  of  Rougemont  ply  a  wicked  trade  with  the 
babies  they  get  from  Paris.  All  the  inhabitants  have  ended 
by  taking  to  it,  there's  nothing  else  doing  in  the  whole  vil- 
lage, and  you  should  just  see  how  things  are  arranged  so 
that  there  may  be  as  many  funerals  as  possible.  Ah  !  yes, 
people  don't  keep  their  stock-in-trade  on  their  hands.  The 
more  that  die,  the  more  they  earn.  And  so  one  can  under- 
stand that  La  Couteau  always  wants  to  take  back  as  many 
babies  as  possible  at  each  journey  she  makes." 

Victoire  recounted  these  dreadful  things  in  her  simple 
way,  as  one  whom  Paris  has  not  yet  turned  into  a  liar,  and 
who  says  all  she  knows,  careless  what  it  may  be. 

"And  it  seems  things  were  far  worse  years  ago,"  she 
continued.  "  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that,  in  his  time, 
the  agents  would  bring  back  four  or  five  children  at  one 
journey  —  perfect  parcels  of  babies,  which  they  tied  together 
and  carried  under  their  arms.  They  set  them  out  in  rows 
on  the  seats  in  the  waiting-rooms  at  the  station ;  and  one 
day,  indeed,  a  Rougemont  agent  forgot  one  child  in  a 
waiting-room,  and  there  was  quite  a  row  about  it,  because 
when  the  child  was  found  again  it  was  dead.  And  then 
you  should  have  seen  in  the  trains  what  a  heap  of  poor 
little  things  there  was,  all  crying  with  hunger.  It  became 
pitiable  in  winter  time,  when  there  was  snow  and  frost,  for 
they  were  all  shivering  and  blue  with  cold  in  their  scanty, 
ragged  swaddling-clothes.  One  or  another  often  died  on 


FRUITFULNESS  131 

the  way,  and  then  it  was  removed  at  the  next  station  and 
buried  in  the  nearest  cemetery.  And  you  can  picture  what 
a  state  those  who  didn't  die  were  in.  At  our  place  we  care 
better  for  our  pigs,  for  we  certainly  wouldn't  send  them 
travelling  in  that  fashion.  My  father  used  to  say  that  it 
was  enough  to  make  the  very  stones  weep.  Nowadays, 
however,  there's  more  supervision  ;  the  regulations  allow 
the  agents  to  take  only  one  nursling  back  at  a  time.  But 
they  know  all  sorts  of  tricks,  and  often  take  a  couple. 
And  then,  too,  they  make  arrangements ;  they  have  women 
who  help  them,  and  they  avail  themselves  of  those  who 
may  be  going  back  into  the  country  alone.  Yes,  La  Couteau 
has  all  sorts  of  tricks  to  evade  the  law.  And,  besides,  all 
the  folks  of  Rougemont  close  their  eyes  —  they  are  too 
much  interested  in  keeping  business  brisk;  and  all  they 
fear  is  that  the  police  may  poke  their  noses  into  their 
affairs.  Ah  !  it  is  all  very  well  for  the  Government  to 
send  inspectors  every  month,  and  insist  on  registers,  and 
the  Mayor's  signature  and  the  stamp  of  the  Commune ; 
why,  it's  just  as  if  it  did  nothing.  It  doesn't  prevent  these 
women  from  quietly  plying  their  trade  and  sending  as 
many  little  ones  as  they  can  to  kingdom-come.  We've 
got  a  cousin  at  Rougemont  who  said  to  us  one  day  : 
4  La  Malivoire's  precious  lucky,  she  got  rid  of  four  more 
during  last  month.' ' 

Victoire  paused  for  a  moment  to  thread  her  needle. 
Norine  was  still  weeping,  while  Mathieu  listened,  mute 
with  horror,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  sleeping 
child. 

"No  doubt  folks  say  less  about  Rougemont  nowadays 
than  they  used  to,"  the  girl  resumed ;  "  but  there's  still 
enough  to  disgust  one.  We  know  three  or  four  baby- 
farmers  who  are  not  worth  their  salt.  The  rule  is  to  bring 
the  little  ones  up  with  the  bottle,  you  know ;  and  you'd  be 
horrified  if  you  saw  what  bottles  they  are  —  never  cleaned, 
always  filthy,  with  the  milk  inside  them  icy  cold  in  the 
winter  and  sour  in  the  summer.  La  Vimeux,  for  her  part, 
thinks  that  the  bottle  system  costs  too  much,  and  so  she 


FRUITFULNESS 

feeds  her  children  on  soup.  That  clears  them  off  all  the 
quicker.  At  La  Loiseau's  you  have  to  hold  your  nose 
when  you  go  near  the  corner  where  the  little  ones  sleep  — 
their  rags  are  so  filthy.  As  for  La  Gavette,  she's  always 
working  in  the  fields  with  her  man,  so  that  the  three  or 
four  nurslings  that  she  generally  has  are  left  in  charge  of 
the  grandfather,  an  old  cripple  of  seventy,  who  can't  even 
prevent  the  fowls  from  coming  to  peck  at  the  little  ones.1 
And  things  are  worse  even  at  La  Cauchois',  for,  as  she  has 
nobody  at  all  to  mind  the  children  when  she  goes  out 
working,  she  leaves  them  tied  in  their  cradles,  for  fear  lest 
they  should  tumble  out  and  crack  their  skulls.  You  might 
visit  all  the  houses  in  the  village,  and  you  would  find  the 
same  thing  everywhere.  There  isn't  a  house  where  the 
trade  isn't  carried  on.  Round  our  part  there  are  places 
where  folks  make  lace,  or  make  cheese,  or  make  cider;  but 
at  Rougemont  they  only  make  dead  bodies." 

All  at  once  she  ceased  sewing,  and  looked  at  Mathieu 
with  her  timid,  clear  eyes. 

"  But  the  worst  of  all,"  she  continued,  "  is  La  Couillard, 
an  old  thief  who  once  did  six  months  in  prison,  and  who 
now  lives  a  little  way  out  of  the  village  on  the  verge  of  the 
wood.  No  live  child  has  ever  left  La  Couillard's.  That's 
her  specialty.  When  you  see  an  agent,  like  La  Couteau, 
for  instance,  taking  her  a  child,  you  know  at  once  what's 
in  the  wind.  La  Couteau  has  simply  bargained  that  the 
little  one  shall  die.  It's  settled  in  a  very  easy  fashion  :  the 
parents  give  a  sum  of  three  or  four  hundred  francs  on  con- 
dition that  the  little  one  shall  be  kept  till  his  first  com- 
munion, and  you  may  be  quite  certain  that  he  dies  within 
a  week.  It's  only  necessary  to  leave  a  window  open  near 
him,  as  a  nurse  used  to  do  whom  my  father  knew.  At 
winter  time,  when  she  had  half  a  dozen  babies  in  her  house, 
she  would  set  the  door  wide  open  and  then  go  out  for  a  stroll. 

1  There  is  no  exaggeration  in  what  M.  Zola  writes  on  this  subject.  I  have 
even  read  in  French  Government  reports  of  instances  in  which  nurslings  have  been 
devoured  by  pigs!  And  it  is  a  well-known  saying  in  France  that  certain  Norman 
and  Touraine  villages  are  virtually  "  paved  with  little  Parisians."  —  Trans. 


FRUITFULNESS  133 

And,  by  the  way,  that  little  boy  in  the  next  room,  whom  La 
Couteau  has  just  gone  to  see,  she'll  take  him  to  La  Couil- 
lard's,  I'm  sure ;  for  I  heard  the  mother,  Mademoiselle 
Rosine,  agree  with  her  the  other  day  to  give  her  a  sum  of 
four  hundred  francs  down  on  the  understanding  that  she 
should  have  nothing  more  to  do  in  the  matter." 

At  this  point  Victoire  ceased  speaking,  for  La  Couteau 
came  in  to  fetch  Norine's  child.  Norine,  who  had  emerged 
from  her  distress  during  the  servant  girl's  stories,  had  ended 
by  listening  to  them  with  great  interest.  .But  directly  she 
perceived  the  agent  she  once  more  hid  her  face  in  her 
pillows,  as  though  she  feared  to  see  what  was  about  to 
happen.  Mathieu,  on  his  side,  had  risen  from  his  chair  and 
stood  there  quivering. 

"So  it's  understood,  I'm  going  to  take  the  child,"  said 
La  Couteau.  "  Madame  Bourdieu  has  given  me  a  slip  of 
paper  bearing  the  date  of  the  birth  and  the  address.  Only 
I  ought  to  have  some  Christian  names.  What  do  you  wish 
the  child  to  be  called  ?  " 

Norine  did  not  at  first  answer.  Then,  in  a  faint  dis- 
tressful voice,  she  said  :  "  Alexandre." 

"  Alexandre,  very  well.  But  you  would  do  better  to 
give  the  boy  a  second  Christian  name,  so  as  to  identify  him 
the  more  readily,  if  some  day  you  take  it  into  your  head  to 
run  after  him." 

It  was  again  necessary  to  tear  a  reply  from  Norine. 
"  Honore,"  she  said. 

"Alexandre  Honore  —  all  right.  That  last  name  is 
yours,  is  it  not  ? l  And  the  first  is  the  father's  ?  That  is 
settled  ;  and  now  I've  everything  I  need.  Only  it's  four 
o'clock  already,  and  I  shall  never  get  back  in  time  for  the 
six  o'clock  train  if  I  don't  take  a  cab.  It's  such  a  long 
way  off — the  other  side  of  the  Luxembourg.  And  a  cab 
costs  money.  How  shall  we  manage?" 

While  she  continued  whining,  to  see  if  she  could  not 
extract  a  few  francs  from  the  distressed  girl,  it  suddenly 

1  Norine  is,  of  course,  a  diminutive  of  Honorine,  which  is  the  feminine  form 
of  Honore.  — Tram. 


FRUITFULNESS 

occurred  to  Mathieu  to  carry  out  his  mission  to  the  very 
end  by  driving  with  her  himself  to  the  Foundling  Hospital, 
so  that  he  might  be  in  a  position  to  inform  Beauchene  that 
the  child  had  really  been  deposited  there,  in  his  presence. 
So  he  told  La  Couteau  that  he  would  go  down  with  her, 
take  a  cab,  and  bring  her  back. 

"All  right;  that  will  suit  me.  Let  us  be  off!  It's  a 
pity  to  wake  the  little  one,  since  he's  so  sound  asleep ;  but 
all  the  same,  we  must  pack  him  off,  since  it's  decided." 

With  her  dry  hands,  which  were  used  to  handling  goods 
of  this  description,  she  caught  up  the  child,  perhaps,  how- 
ever, a  little  roughly,  forgetting  her  assumed  wheedling 
good  nature  now  that  she  was  simply  charged  with  con- 
veying it  to  hospital.  And  the  child  awoke  and  began  to 
scream  loudly. 

"  Ah  !  dear  me,  it  won't  be  amusing  if  he  keeps  up  this 
music  in  the  cab.  Quick,  let  us  be  off." 

But  Mathieu  stopped  her.  "  Won't  you  kiss  him, 
Norine  ?  "  he  asked. 

At  the  very  first  squeal  that  sorry  mother  had  dipped  yet 
lower  under  her  sheets,  carrying  her  hands  to  her  ears,  dis- 
tracted as  she  was  by  the  sound  of  those  cries.  "  No,  no," 
she  gasped,  "  take  him  away ;  take  him  away  at  once. 
Don't  begin  torturing  me  again  ! " 

Then  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  with  one  arm  repulsed  the 
child  who  seemed  to  be  pursuing  her.  But  when  she  felt 
that  the  agent  was  laying  him  on  the  bed,  she  suddenly 
shuddered,  sat  up,  and  gave  a  wild  hasty  kiss,  which  lighted 
on  the  little  fellow's  cap.  She  had  scarcely  opened  her 
tear-dimmed  eyes,  and  could  have  seen  but  a  vague  phan- 
tom of  that  poor  feeble  creature,  wailing  and  struggling  at 
the  decisive  moment  when  he  was  being  cast  into  the 
unknown. 

"  You  are  killing  me  !  Take  him  away ;  take  him 
away  !  " 

Once  in  the  cab  the  child  suddenly  became  silent. 
Either  the  jolting  of  the  vehicle  calmed  him,  or  the  creak- 
ing of  the  wheels  filled  him  with  emotion.  La  Couteau, 


FRUITFULNESS  135 

who  kept  him  on  her  knees,  at  first  remained  silent,  as  if 
interested  in  the  people  on  the  footwalks,  where  the  bright 
sun  was  shining.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  began  to  talk, 
venting  her  thoughts  aloud. 

"  That  little  woman  made  a  great  mistake  in  not  trusting 
the  child  to  me.  I  should  have  put  him  out  to  nurse  prop- 
erly, and  he  would  have  grown  up  finely  at  Rougemont. 
But  there !  they  all  imagine  that  we  simply  worry  them 
because  we  want  to  do  business.  But  I  just  ask  you,  if 
she  had  given  me  five  francs  for  myself  and  paid  my  return 
journey,  would  that  have  ruined  her  ?  A  pretty  girl  like 
her  oughtn't  to  be  hard  up  for  money.  I  know  very  well 
that  in  our  calling  there  are  some  people  who  are  hardly 
honest,  who  speculate  and  ask  for  commissions,  and  then 
put  out  nurslings  at  cheap  rates  and  rob  both  the  parents 
and  the  nurse.  It's  really  not  right  to  treat  these  dear 
little  things  as  if  they  were  goods  —  poultry  or  vegetables. 
When  folks  do  that  I  can  understand  that  their  hearts  get 
hardened,  and  that  they  pass  the  little  ones  on  from  hand  to 
hand  without  any  more  care  than  if  they  were  stock-in- 
trade.  But  then,  monsieur,  I'm  an  honest  woman ;  I'm 
authorized  by  the  mayor  of  our  village  ;  I  hold  a  certificate 
of  morality,  which  I  can  show  to  anybody.  If  ever  you 
should  come  to  Rougemont,  just  ask  after  Sophie  Couteau 
there.  Folks  will  tell  you  that  I'm  a  hard-working  woman, 
and  don't  owe  a  copper  to  a  soul ! " 

Mathieu  could  not  help  looking  at  her  to  see  how  un- 
blushingly  she  thus  praised  herself.  And  her  speech  struck 
him  as  if  it  were  a  premeditated  reply  to  all  that  Victoire 
had  related  of  her,  for,  with  the  keen  scent  of  a  shrewd 
peasant  woman,  she  must  have  guessed  that  charges  had 
been  brought  against  her.  When  she  felt  that  his  piercing 
glance  was  diving  to  her  very  soul,  she  doubtless  feared  that 
she  had  not  lied  with  sufficient  assurance,  and  had  some- 
how negligently  betrayed  herself;  for  she  did  not  insist,  but 
put  on  more  gentleness  of  manner,  and  contented  herself 
with  praising  Rougemont  in  a  general  way,  saying  what  a 
perfect  paradise  it  was,  where  the  little  ones  were  received, 


136  FRUITFULNESS 

fed,  cared  for,  and  coddled  as  if  they  were  all  sons  of 
princes.  Then,  seeing  that  the  gentleman  uttered  never  a 
word,  she  became  silent  once  more.  It  was  evidently  useless 
to  try  to  win  him  over.  And  meantime  the  cab  rolled  and 
rolled  along ;  streets  followed  streets,  ever  noisy  and 
crowded ;  and  they  crossed  the  Seine  and  at  last  drew  near 
to  the  Luxembourg.  It  was  only  after  passing  the  palace 
gardens  that  La  Couteau  again  began : 

"  Well,  it's  that  young  person's  own  affair  if  she  imag- 
ines that  her  child  will  be  better  off  for  passing  through 
the  Foundling.  I  don't  attack  the  Administration,  but  you 
know,  monsieur,  there's  a  good  deal  to  be  said  on  the  mat- 
ter. At  Rougemont  we  have  a  number  of  nurslings  that 
it  sends  us,  and  they  don't  grow  any  better  or  die  less  fre- 
quently than  the  others.  Well,  well,  people  are  free  to  act 
as  they  fancy ;  but  all  the  same  I  should  like  you  to  know, 
as  I  do,  all  that  goes  on  in  there." 

The  cab  had  stopped  at  the  top  of  the  Rue  Denfert- 
Rochereau,  at  a  short  distance  from  the  former  outer  Boule- 
vard. A  big  gray  wall  stretched  out,  the  frigid  facade  of  a 
State  establishment,  and  it  was  through  a  quiet,  simple,  un- 
obtrusive little  doorway  at  the  end  of  this  wall  that  La 
Couteau  went  in  with  the  child.  Mathieu  followed  her, 
but  he  did  not  enter  the  office  where  a  woman  received  the 
children.  He  felt  too  much  emotion,  and  feared  lest  he 
should  be  questioned ;  it  was,  indeed,  as  if  he  considered 
himself  an  accomplice  in  a  crime.  Though  La  Couteau 
told  him  that  the  woman  would  ask  him  nothing,  and  the 
strictest  secrecy  was  always  observed,  he  preferred  to  wait 
in  an  anteroom,  which  led  to  several  closed  compartments, 
where  the  persons  who  came  to  deposit  children  were  placed 
to  wait  their  turn.  And  he  watched  the  woman  go  off, 
carrying  the  little  one,  who  still  remained  extremely  well 
behaved,  with  a  vacant  stare  in  his  big  eyes. 

Though  the  interval  of  waiting  could  not  have  lasted 
more  than  twenty  minutes,  it  seemed  terribly  long  to 
Mathieu.  Lifeless  quietude  reigned  in  that  stern,  sad-look- 
ing anteroom,  wainscoted  with  oak,  and  pervaded  with  the 


FRUITFULNESS  137 

smell  peculiar  to  hospitals.  All  he  heard  was  the  occasional 
faint  wail  of  some  infant,  above  which  now  and  then  rose 
a  heavy,  restrained  sob,  coming  perhaps  from  some  mother 
who  was  waiting  in  one  of  the  adjoining  compartments.  And 
he  recalled  the  "  slide  "  of  other  days,  the  box  which  turned 
within  the  wall.  The  mother  crept  up,  concealing  herself 
much  as  possible  from  view,  thrust  her  baby  into  the  cavity 
as  into  an  oven,  gave  a  tug  at  the  bell-chain,  and  then  pre- 
cipitately fled.  Mathieu  was  too  young  to  have  seen  the 
real  thing ;  he  had  only  seen  it  represented  in  a  melodrama 
at  the  Port  St.  Martin  Theatre.1  But  how  many  stories  it 
recalled  —  hampers  of  poor  little  creatures  brought  up  from 
the  provinces  and  deposited  at  the  hospital  by  carriers  ;  the 
stolen  babes  of  Duchesses,  here  cast  into  oblivion  by  suspi- 
cious-looking men ;  the  hundreds  of  wretched  work-girls 
too  who  had  here  rid  themselves  of  their  unfortunate  chil- 
dren. Now,  however,  the  children  had  to  be  deposited 
openly,  and  there  was  a  staff  which  took  down  names  and 
dates,  while  giving  a  pledge  of  inviolable  secrecy.  Mathieu 
was  aware  that  some  few  people  imputed  to  the  suppression 
of  the  slide  system  the  great  increase  in  criminal  offences. 
But  each  day  public  opinion  condemns  more  and  more  the 
attitude  of  society  in  former  times,  and  discards  the  idea 
that  one  must  accept  evil,  dam  it  in,  and  hide  it  as  if  it 
were  some  necessary  sewer;  for  the  only  course  for  a 
free  community  to  pursue  is  to  foresee  evil  and  grapple 
with  it,  and  destroy  it  in  the  bud.  To  diminish  the  number 
of  cast-off  children  one  must  seek  out  the  mothers,  encourage 
them,  succor  them,  and  give  them  the  means  to  be  mothers  in 
fact  as  well  as  in  name.  At  that  moment,  however,  Mathieu 
did  not  reason  ;  it  was  his  heart  that  was  affected,  filled  with 
growing  pity  and  anguish  at  the  thought  of  all  the  crime, 

1  The  "  slide  "  system,  which  enabled  a  mother  to  deposit  her  child  at  the  hospital 
without  being  seen  by  those  within,  ceased  to  be  employed  officially  as  far  back  as 
1 847  5  but  the  apparatus  was  long  preserved  intact,  and  I  recollect  seeing  it  in  the 
latter  years  of  the  Second  Empire,  fir.  1867—70,  when  I  was  often  at  the  artists' 
studios  in  the  neighborhood.  The  aperture  through  which  children  were  de- 
posited in  the  sliding-box  was  close  to  the  little  door  of  which  M.  Zola  speaks. 
— Trans. 


138  FRUITFULNESS 

all  the  shame,  all  the  grief  and  distress  that  had  passed 
through  that  anteroom  in  which  he  stood.  What  terrible 
confessions  must  have  been  heard,  what  a  procession  of 
suffering,  ignominy,  and  wretchedness  must  have  been  wit- 
nessed by  that  woman  who  received  the  children  in  her 
mysterious  little  office !  To  her  all  the  wreckage  of  the 
slums,  all  the  woe  lying  beneath  gilded  life,  all  the  abomi- 
nations, all  the  tortures  that  remain  unknown,  were  carried. 
There  in  her  office  was  the  port  for  the  shipwrecked,  there 
the  black  hole  that  swallowed  up  the  offspring  of  frailty 
and  shame.  And  while  Mathieu's  spell  of  waiting  continued 
he  saw  three  poor  creatures  arrive  at  the  hospital.  One 
was  surely  a  work-girl,  delicate  and  pretty  though  she 
looked,  so  thin,  so  pale  too,  and  with  so  wild  an  air  that  he 
remembered  a  paragraph  he  had  lately  read  in  a  newspaper, 
recounting  how  another  such  girl,  after  forsaking  her  child, 
had  thrown  herself  into  the  river.  The  second  seemed  to 
him  to  be  a  married  woman,  some  workman's  wife,  no 
doubt,  overburdened  with  children  and  unable  to  provide 
food  for  another  mouth ;  while  the  third  was  tall,  strong, 
and  insolent,  —  one  of  those  who  bring  three  or  four 
children  to  the  hospital  one  after  the  other.  And  all  three 
women  plunged  in,  and  he  heard  them  being  penned  in 
separate  compartments  by  an  attendant,  while  he,  with 
stricken  heart,  realizing  how  heavily  fate  fell  on  some, 
still  stood  there  waiting. 

When  La  Couteau  at  last  reappeared  with  empty  arms 
she  said  never  a  word,  and  Mathieu  put  no  question  to  her. 
Still  in  silence,  they  took  their  seats  in  the  cab ;  and  only 
some  ten  minutes  afterwards,  when  the  vehicle  was  already 
rolling  through  bustling,  populous  streets,  did  the  woman 
begin  to  laugh.  Then,  as  her  companion,  still  silent  and 
distant,  did  not  condescend  to  ask  her  the  cause  of  her 
sudden  gayety,  she  ended  by  saying  aloud  : 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  am  laughing  ?  If  I  kept  you 
waiting  a  bit  longer,  it  was  because  I  met  a  friend  of  mine, 
an  attendant  in  the  house,  just  as  I  left  the  office.  She's 
one  of  those  who  put  the  babies  out  to  nurse  in  the 


FRUITFULNESS  139 

provinces.1  Well,  my  friend  told  me  that  she  was 
going  to  Rougemont  to-morrow  with  two  other  attendants, 
and  that  among  others  they  would  certainly  have  with  them 
the  little  fellow  I  had  just  left  at  the  hospital." 

Again  did  she  give  vent  to  a  dry  laugh  which  distorted  her 
wheedling  face.  And  she  continued  :  "  How  comical,  eh  ? 
The  mother  wouldn't  let  me  take  the  child  to  Rougemont, 
and  now  it's  going  there  just  the  same.  Ah  !  some  things 
are  bound  to  happen  in  spite  of  everything." 

Mathieu  did  not  answer,  but  an  icy  chill  had  sped  through 
his  heart.  It  was  true,  fate  pitilessly  took  its  own  course. 
What  would  become  of  that  poor  little  fellow  ?  To  what 
early  death,  what  life  of  suffering  or  wretchedness,  or  even 
crime,  had  he  been  thus  brutally  cast  ? 

But  the  cab  continued  rolling  on,  and  for  a  long  while 
neither  Mathieu  nor  La  Couteau  spoke  again.  It  was  only 
when  the  latter  alighted  in  the  Rue  de  Miromesnil  that  she 
began  to  lament,  on  seeing  that  it  was  already  half-past  five 
o'clock,  for  she  felt  certain  that  she  would  miss  her  train, 
particularly  as  she  still  had  some  accounts  to  settle  and  that 
other  child  upstairs  to  fetch.  Mathieu,  who  had  intended 
to  keep  the  cab  and  drive  to  the  Northern  terminus,  then 
experienced  a  feeling  of  curiosity,  and  thought  of  witnessing 
the  departure  of  the  nurse-agents.  So  he  calmed  La  Couteau 
by  telling  her  that  if  she  would  make  haste  he  would  wait 
for  her.  And  as  she  asked  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  it 
occurred  to  him  to  speak  to  Norine  again,  and  so  he  also 
went  upstairs. 

When  he  entered  Norine's  room  he  found  her  sitting  up 
in  bed,  eating  one  of  the  oranges  which  her  little  sisters  had 
brought  her.  She  had  all  the  greedy  instincts  of  a  plump, 
pretty  girl ;  she  carefully  detached  each  section  of  the 
orange,  and,  her  eyes  half  closed  the  while,  her  flesh  quiver- 
ing under  her  streaming  outspread  hair,  she  sucked  one  after 
another  with  her  fresh  red  lips,  like  a  pet  cat  lapping  a 

1  There  are  only  about  600  beds  at  the  Hopital  des  Enfants  Assistes,  and  the 
majority  of  the  children  deposited  there  are  perforce  placed  out  to  nurse  in  the 
country.  —  Trans. 


i4o  FRUITFULNESS 

cup  of  milk.  Mathieu's  sudden  entry  made  her  start,  how- 
ever, and  when  she  recognized  him  she  smiled  faintly  in  an 
embarrassed  way. 

"  It's  done/'  he  simply  said. 

She  did  not  immediately  reply,  but  wiped  her  fingers  on 
her  handkerchief.  However,  it  was  necessary  that  she  should 
say  something,  and  so  she  began:  "You  did  not  tell  me 
you  would  come  back  —  I  was  not  expecting  you.  Well, 
it's  done,  and  it's  all  for  the  best.  I  assure  you  there  was 
no  means  of  doing  otherwise." 

Then  she  spoke  of  her  departure,  asked  the  young  man 
if  he  thought  she  might  regain  admittance  to  the  works,  and 
declared  that  in  any  case  she  should  go  there  to  see  if  the 
master  would  have  the  audacity  to  turn  her  away.  Thus 
she  continued  while  the  minutes  went  slowly  by.  The 
conversation  had  dropped,  Mathieu  scarcely  replying  to 
her,  when  La  Couteau,  carrying  the  other  child  in  her  arms, 
at  last  darted  in  like  a  gust  of  wind.  "  Let's  make  haste, 
let's  make  haste  !  "  she  cried.  "  They  never  end  with  their 
figures  ;  they  try  all  they  can  to  leave  me  without  a  copper 
for  myself!" 

But  Norine  detained  her,  asking  :  "  Oh  !  is  that  Rosine's 
baby  ?  Pray  do  show  it  me."  Then  she  uncovered  the 
infant's  face,  and  exclaimed  :  u  Oh  !  how  plump  and  pretty 
he  is  !  "  And  she  began  another  sentence  :  "  What  a  pity  ! 
Can  one  have  the  heart  — "  But  then  she  remembered, 
paused,  and  changed  her  words  :  "  Yes,  how  heartrending 
it  is  when  one  has  to  forsake  such  little  angels." 

"  Good-by  !  Take  care  of  yourself !  "  cried  La  Couteau  ; 
"  you  will  make  me  miss  my  train.  And  I've  got  the 
return  tickets,  too ;  the  five  others  are  waiting  for  me  at 
the  station  !  Ah  !  what  a  fuss  they  would  make  if  I  got 
there  too  late  !  " 

Then,  followed  by  Mathieu,  she  hurried  away,  bounding 
down  the  stairs,  where  she  almost  fell  with  her  little  burden. 
But  soon  she  threw  herself  back  in  the  cab,  which  rolled 
off. 

"  Ah  !  that's  a  good  job  !     And  what  do  you  say  of  that 


FRUITFULNESS  141 

young  person,  monsieur  ?  She  wouldn't  lay  out  fifteen 
francs  a  month  on  her  own  account,  and  yet  she  reproaches 
that  good  Mademoiselle  Rosine,  who  has  just  given  me  four 
hundred  francs  to  have  her  little  one  taken  care  of  till  his 
first  communion.  Just  look  at  him  —  a  superb  child,  isn't 
he  ?  What  a  pity  it  is  that  the  finest  are  often  those  who 
die  the  first." 

Mathieu  looked  at  the  infant  on  the  woman's  knees. 
His  garments  were  very  white,  of  fine  texture,  trimmed 
with  lace,  as  if  he  were  some  little  condemned  prince  being 
taken  in  all  luxury  to  execution.  And  the  young  man 
remembered  that  Norine  had  told  him  that  the  child  was 
the  offspring  of  crime.  Born  amid  secrecy,  he  was  now, 
for  a  fixed  sum,  to  be  handed  over  to  a  woman  who  would 
quietly  suppress  him  by  simply  leaving  some  door  or  window 
wide  open.  Young  though  the  boy  was,  he  already  had  a 
finely-formed  face,  that  suggested  the  beauty  of  a  cherub. 
And  he  was  very  well  behaved  ;  he  did  not  raise  the  faintest 
wail.  But  a  shudder  swept  through  Mathieu.  How 
abominable  ! 

La  Couteau  quickly  sprang  from  the  cab  as  soon  as  they 
reached  the  courtyard  of  the  St.  Lazare  Station.  "  Thank 
you,  monsieur,  you  have  been  very  kind,"  said  she.  "  And 
if  you  will  kindly  recommend  me  to  any  ladies  you  may 
know,  I  shall  be  quite  at  their  disposal." 

Then  Mathieu,  having  alighted  on  the  pavement  in  his 
turn,  saw  a  scene  which  detained  him  there  a  few  moments 
longer.  Amid  all  the  scramble  of  passengers  and  luggage, 
five  women  of  peasant  aspect,  each  carrying  an  infant,  were 
darting  in  a  scared,  uneasy  way  hither  and  thither,  like  crows 
in  trouble,  with  big  yellow  beaks  quivering  and  black  wings 
flapping  with  anxiety.  Then,  on  perceiving  La  Couteau, 
there  was  one  general  caw,  and  all  five  swooped  down  upon 
her  with  angry,  voracious  mien.  And,  after  a  furious  ex- 
change of  cries  and  explanations,  the  six  banded  themselves 
together,  and,  with  cap-strings  waving  and  skirts  flying, 
rushed  towards  the  train,  carrying  the  little  ones,  like  birds 
of  prey  who  feared  delay  in  returning  to  the  charnel-house. 


i4a  FRUITFULNESS 

And  Mathieu  remained  alone  in  the  great  crowd.  Thus 
every  year  did  these  crows  of  ill  omen  carry  off  from  Paris 
no  fewer  than  20,000  children,  who  were  never,  never  seen 
again  !  'Ah  !  that  great  question  of  the  depopulation  of 
France  !  Not  merely  were  there  those  who  were  resolved 
to  have  no  children,  not  only  were  infanticide  and  crime  of 
other  kinds  rife  upon  all  sides,  but  one-half  of  the  babes 
saved  from  those  dangers  were  killed.  Thieves  and  mur- 
deresses, eager  for  lucre,  flocked  to  the  great  city  from  the 
four  points  of  the  compass,  and  bore  away  all  the  budding 
Life  that  their  arms  could  carry  in  order  that  they  might 
turn  it  to  Death  !  They  beat  down  the  game,  they  watched 
in  the  doorways,  they  sniffed  from  afar  the  innocent  flesh 
on  which  they  preyed.  And  the  babes  were  carted  to  the 
railway  stations ;  the  cradles,  the  wards  of  hospitals  and 
refuges,  the  wretched  garrets  of  poor  mothers,  without  fires 
and  without  bread  —  all,  all  were  emptied  !  And  the  pack- 
ages were  heaped  up,  moved  carelessly  hither  and  thither, 
sent  off,  distributed  to  be  murdered  either  by  foul  deed  or 
by  neglect.  The  raids  swept  on  like  tempest  blasts ;  Death's 
scythe  never  knew  dead  season,  at  every  hour  it  mowed 
down  budding  life.  Children  who  might  well  have  lived 
were  taken  from  their  mothers,  the  only  nurses  whose  milk 
would  have  nourished  them,  to  be  carted  away  and  to  die 
for  lack  of  proper  nutriment. 

A  rush  of  blood  warmed  Mathieu's  heart  when,  all  at 
once,  he  thought  of  Marianne,  so  strong  and  healthy,  who 
would  be  waiting  for  him  on  the  bridge  over  the  Yeuse,  in 
the  open  country,  with  their  little  Gervais  at  her  breast. 
Figures  that  he  had  seen  in  print  came  back  to  his  mind. 
In  certain  regions  which  devoted  themselves  to  baby-farming 
the  mortality  among  the  nurslings  was  fifty  per  cent ;  in 
the  best  of  them  it  was  forty,  and  seventy  in  the  worst.  It 
was  calculated  that  in  one  century  seventeen  millions  of 
nurslings  had  died.  Over  a  long  period  the  mortality  had 
remained  at  from  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  per  annum.  The  most  deadly  reigns,  the  greatest 
butcheries  of  the  most  terrible  conquerors,  had  never  resulted 


FRUITFULNESS  143 

in  such  massacre.  It  was  a  giant  battle  that  France  lost 
every  year,  the  abyss  into  which  her  whole  strength  sank, 
the  charnel-place  into  which  every  hope  was  cast.  At  the 
end  of  it  is  the  imbecile  death  of  the  nation.  And  Mathieu, 
seized  with  terror  at  the  thought,  rushed  away,  eager  to 
seek  consolation  by  the  side  of  Marianne,  amid  the  peace- 
fulness,  the  wisdom,  and  the  health  which  were  their  happy 
lot. 


IX 

ONE  Thursday  morning  Mathieu  went  to  lunch  with  Dr. 
Boutan  in  the  rooms  where  the  latter  had  resided  for  more 
than  ten  years,  in  the  Rue  de  1'Universite,  behind  the 
Palais-Bourbon.  By  a  contradiction,  at  which  he  himself 
often  laughed,  this  impassioned  apostle  of  fruitfulness  had 
remained  a  bachelor.  His  extensive  practice  kept  him  in  a 
perpetual  hurry,  and  he  had  little  time  free  beyond  his 
dejeuner  hour.  Accordingly,  whenever  a  friend  wished  to 
have  any  serious  conversation  with  him,  he  preferred  to 
invite  him  to  his  modest  table,  to  partake  more  or  less 
hastily  of  an  egg,  a  cutlet,  and  a  cup  of  coffee. 

Mathieu  wished  to  ask  the  doctor's  advice  on  a  grave 
subject.  After  a  couple  of  weeks'  reflection,  his  idea  of 
experimenting  in  agriculture,  of  extricating  that  unappre- 
ciated estate  of  Chantebled  from  chaos,  preoccupied  him  to 
such  a  degree  that  he  positively  suffered  at  not  daring  to 
come  to  a  decision.  The  imperious  desire  to  create,  to  pro- 
duce life,  health,  strength,  and  wealth  grew  within  him  day 
by  day.  Yet  what  fine  courage  and  what  a  fund  of  hope 
he  needed  to  venture  upon  an  enterprise  which  outwardly 
seemed  so  wild  and  rash,  and  the  wisdom  of  which  was 
apparent  to  himself  alone.  With  whom  could  he  discuss 
such  a  matter,  to  whom  could  he  confide  his  doubts  and 
hesitation  ?  When  the  idea  of  consulting  Boutan  occurred 
to  him,  he  at  once  asked  the  doctor  for  an  appointment. 
Here  was  such  a  confidant  as  he  desired,  a  man  of  broad, 
brave  mind,  one  who  worshipped  life,  who  was  endowed 
with  far-seeing  intelligence,  and  who  would  therefore  at 
once  look  beyond  the  first  difficulties  of  execution. 

As  soon  as  they  were  face  to  face  on  either  side  of  the 

X44 


FRUITFULNESS  145 

table,  Mathieu  began  to  pour  forth  his  confession,  recount- 
ing his  dream  —  his  poem,  as  he  called  it.  And  the  doctor 
listened  without  interrupting,  evidently  won  over  by  the 
young  man's  growing,  creative  emotion.  When  at  last 
Boutan  had  to  express  an  opinion  he  replied  :  "  Man  Dieu, 
my  friend,  I  can  tell  you  nothing  from  a  practical  point  of 
view,  for  I  have  never  even  planted  a  lettuce.  I  will  even 
add  that  your  project  seems  to  me  so  hazardous  that  any 
one  versed  in  these  matters  whom  you  might  consult  would 
assuredly  bring  forward  substantial  and  convincing  argu- 
ments to  dissuade  you.  But  you  speak  of  this  affair  with 
such  superb  confidence  and  ardor  and  affection,  that  I  feel 
convinced  you  would  succeed.  Moreover,  you  flatter  my 
own  views,  for  I  have  long  endeavored  to  show  that,  if 
numerous  families  are  ever  to  flourish  again  in  France,  peo- 
ple must  again  love  and  worship  the  soil,  and  desert  the 
towns,  and  lead  a  fruitful  fortifying  country  life.  So  how 
can  I  disapprove  your  plans  ?  Moreover,  I  suspect  that, 
like  all  people  who  ask  advice,  you  simply  came  here  in  the 
hope  that  you  would  find  in  me  a  brother  ready,  in  princi- 
ple at  all  events,  to  wage  the  same  battle." 

At  this  they  both  laughed  heartily.  Then,  on  Boutan 
inquiring  with  what  capital  he  would  start  operations, 
Mathieu  quietly  explained  that  he  did  not  mean  to  borrow 
money  and  thus  run  into  debt ;  he  would  begin,  if  neces- 
sary, with  very  few  acres  indeed,  convinced  as  he  was  of 
the  conquering  power  of  labor.  His  would  be  the  head, 
and  he  would  assuredly  find  the  necessary  arms.  His  only 
worry  was  whether  he  would  be  able  to  induce  Seguin  to 
sell  him  the  old  hunting-box  and  the  few  acres  round  it  on 
a  system  of  yearly  payments,  without  preliminary  disburse- 
ment. When  he  spoke  to  the  doctor  on  this  subject,  the 
other  replied  : 

"  Oh  !  I  think  he  is  very  favorably  disposed.  I  know 
that  he  would  be  delighted  to  sell  that  huge,  unprofitable 
estate,  for  with  his  increasing  pecuniary  wants  he  is  very 
much  embarrassed  by  it.  You  are  aware,  no  doubt,  that 
things  are  going  from  bad  to  worse  in  his  household." 


146  FRUITFULNESS 

Then  the  doctor  broke  off  to  inquire :  "  And  our  friend 
Beauchene,  have  you  warned  him  of  your  intention  to  leave 
the  works  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  not  yet,"  said  Mathieu  ;  "  and  I  would  ask 
you  to  keep  the  matter  private,  for  I  wish  to  have  every- 
thing settled  before  informing  him." 

Lunching  quickly,  they  had  now  got  to  their  coffee,  and 
the  doctor  offered  to  drive  Mathieu  back  to  the  works,  as 
he  was  going  there  himself,  for  Madame  Beauchene  had 
requested  him  to  call  once  a  week,  in  order  that  he  might 
keep  an  eye  on  Maurice's  health.  Not  only  did  the  lad 
still  suffer  from  his  legs,  but  he  had  so  weak  and  delicate  a 
stomach  that  he  had  to  be  dieted  severely. 

11  It's  the  kind  of  stomach  one  finds  among  children  who 
have  not  been  brought  up  by  their  own  mothers,"  continued 
Boutan.  "  Your  plucky  wife  doesn't  know  that  trouble  ; 
she  can  let  her  children  eat  whatever  they  fancy.  But  with 
that  poor  little  Maurice,  the  merest  trifle,  such  as  four  cher- 
ries instead  of  three,  provokes  indigestion.  Well,  so  it 
is  settled,  I  will  drive  you  back  to  the  works.  Only  I 
must  first  make  a  call  in  the  Rue  Roquepine  to  choose 
a  nurse.  It  won't  take  me  long,  I  hope.  Quick  !  let  us 
be  off." 

When  they  were  together  in  the  brougham,  Boutan  told 
Mathieu  that  it  was  precisely  for  the  Seguins  that  he  was 
going  to  the  nurse-agency.  There  was  a  terrible  time  at 
the  house  in  the  Avenue  d'Antin.  A  few  months  pre- 
viously Valentine  had  given  birth  to  a  daughter,  and  her 
husband  had  obstinately  resolved  to  select  a  fit  nurse  for  the 
child  himself,  pretending  that  he  knew  all  about  such  mat- 
ters. And  he  had  chosen  a  big,  sturdy  young  woman  of 
monumental  appearance.  Nevertheless,  for  two  months 
past  Andree,  the  baby,  had  been  pining  away,  and  the  doc- 
tor had  discovered,  by  analyzing  the  nurse's  milk,  that  it 
was  deficient  in  nutriment.  Thus  the  child  was  simply  per- 
ishing of  starvation.  To  change  a  nurse  is  a  terrible  thing, 
and  the  Seguins'  house  was  in  a  tempestuous  state.  The 
husband  rushed  hither  and  thither,  banging  the  doors  and 


FRUITFULNESS  147 

declaring  that  he  would  never  more  occupy  himself  about 
anything. 

"  And  so,"  added  Boutan,  "  I  have  now  been  instructed 
to  choose  a  fresh  nurse.  And  it  is  a  pressing  matter, 
for  I  am  really  feeling  anxious  about  that  poor  little 
Andree." 

"  But  why  did  not  the  mother  nurse  her  child  ?  "  asked 
Mathieu. 

The  doctor  made  a  gesture  of  despair.  "  Ah  !  my  dear 
fellow,  you  ask  me  too  much.  But  how  would  you  have  a 
Parisienne  of  the  wealthy  bourgeoisie  undertake  the  duty,  the 
long  brave  task  of  nursing  a  child,  when  she  leads  the  life 
she  does,  what  with  receptions  and  dinners  and  soirees,  and 
absences  and  social  obligations  of  all  sorts  ?  That  little 
Madame  Seguin  is  simply  trifling  when  she  puts  on  an  air 
of  deep  distress  and  says  that  she  would  so  much  have  liked 
to  nurse  her  infant,  but  that  it  was  impossible  since  she  had 
no  milk.  She  never  even  tried  !  When  her  first  child  was 
born  she  could  doubtless  have  nursed  it.  But  to-day,  with 
the  imbecile,  spoilt  life  she  leads,  it  is  quite  certain  that  she 
is  incapable  of  making  such  an  effort.  The  worst  is,  my 
dear  fellow,  as  any  doctor  will  tell  you,  that  after  three  or 
four  generations  of  mothers  who  do  not  feed  their  children 
there  comes  a  generation  that  cannot  do  so.  And  so,  my 
friend,  we  are  fast  coming,  not  only  in  France,  but  in  other 
countries  where  the  odious  wet-nurse  system  is  in  vogue,  to 
a  race  of  wretched,  degenerate  women,  who  will  be  abso- 
lutely powerless  to  nourish  their  offspring." 

Mathieu  then  remembered  what  he  had  witnessed  at 
Madame  Bourdieu's  and  the  Foundling  Hospital.  And  he 
imparted  his  impressions  to  Boutan,  who  again  made  a 
despairing  gesture.  There  was  a  great  work  of  social 
salvation  to  be  accomplished,  said  he.  No  doubt  a  number 
of  philanthropists  were  trying  their  best  to  improve  things, 
but  private  effort  could  not  cope  with  such  widespread  need. 
There  must  be  general  measures  ;  laws  must  be  passed  to 
save  the  nation.  The  mother  must  be  protected  and  helped, 
even  in  secrecy,  if  she  asked  for  it ;  she  must  be  cared  for, 


148  FRUITFULNESS 

succored,  from  the  earliest  period,  and  right  through  all  the 
long  months  during  which  she  fed  her  babe.  All  sorts  of 
establishments  would  have  to  be  founded  —  refuges,  conva- 
lescent homes,  and  so  forth ;  and  there  must  be  protective 
enactments,  and  large  sums  of  money  voted  to  enable  help 
to  be  extended  to  all  mothers,  whatever  they  might  be.  It 
was  only  by  such  preventive  steps  that  one  could  put  a  stop 
to  the  frightful  hecatomb  of  newly-born  infants,  that  inces- 
sant loss  of  life  which  exhausted  the  nation  and  brought  it 
nearer  and  nearer  to  death  every  day. 

"And,"  continued  the  doctor,  "  it  may  all  be  summed 
up  in  this  verity :  l  It  is  a  mother's  duty  to  nurse  her 
child.'  And,  besides,  a  mother,  is  she  not  the  symbol  of 
all  grandeur,  all  strength,  all  beauty  ?  She  represents  the 
eternity  of  life.  She  deserves  a  social  culture,  she  should 
be  religiously  venerated.  When  we  know  how  to  worship 
motherhood,  our  country  will  be  saved.  And  this  is  why, 
my  friend,  I  should  like  a  mother  feeding  her  babe  to  be 
adopted  as  the  highest  expression  of  human  beauty.  Ah  ! 
how  can  one  persuade  our  Parisiennes,  all  our  French  women, 
indeed,  that  woman's  beauty  lies  in  being  a  mother  with  an 
infant  on  her  knees  ?  Whenever  that  fashion  prevails,  we 
shall  be  the  sovereign  nation,  the  masters  of  the  world  !  " 

He  ended  by  laughing  in  a  distressed  way,  in  his  despair 
at  being  unable  to  change  manners  and  customs,  aware  as 
he  was  that  the  nation  could  be  revolutionized  only  by  a 
change  in  its  ideal  of  true  beauty. 

"To  sum  up,  then,  I  believe  in  a  child  being  nursed 
only  by  its  own  mother.  Every  mother  who  neglects  that 
duty  when  she  can  perform  it  is  a  criminal.  Of  course, 
there  are  instances  when  she  is  physically  incapable  of 
accomplishing  her  duty,  and  in  that  case  there  is  the  feeding- 
bottle,  which,  if  employed  with  care  and  extreme  cleanli- 
ness, only  sterilized  milk  being  used,  will  yield  a  sufficiently 
good  result.  But  to  send  a  child  away  to  be  nursed  means 
almost  certain  death ;  and  as  for  the  nurse  in  the  house, 
that  is  a  shameful  transaction,  a  source  of  incalculable  evil, 
for  both  the  employer's  child  and  the  nurse's  child  frequently 
die  from  it." 


FRUITFULNESS  149 

Just  then  the  doctor's  brougham  drew  up  outside  the 
nurse-agency  in  the  Rue  Roquepine. 

"  I  dare  say  you  have  never  been  in  such  a  place,  although 
you  are  the  father  of  five  children,"  said  Boutan  to  Mathieu, 
gayly. 

"  No,  I  haven't." 

"  Well,  then,  come  with  me.  One  ought  to  know  every- 
thing." 

The  office  in  the  Rue  Roquepine  was  the  most  impor- 
tant and  the  one  with  the  best  reputation  in  the  district. 
It  was  kept  by  Madame  Broquette,  a  woman  of  forty,  with 
a  dignified  if  somewhat  blotched  face,  who  was  always  very 
tightly  laced  in  a  faded  silk  gown  of  dead-leaf  hue.  But 
if  she  represented  the  dignity  and  fair  fame  of  the  estab- 
lishment in  its  intercourse  with  clients,  the  soul  of  the 
place,  the  ever-busy  manipulator,  was  her  husband,  Mon- 
sieur Broquette,  a  little  man  with  a  pointed  nose,  quick 
eyes,  and  the  agility  of  a  ferret.  Charged  with  the  police 
duties  of  the  office,  the  supervision  and  training  of  the 
nurses,  he  received  them,  made  them  clean  themselves, 
taught  them  to  smile  and  put  on  pleasant  ways,  besides 
penning  them  in  their  various  rooms  and  preventing  them 
from  eating  too  much.  From  morn  till  night  he  was  ever 
prowling  about,  scolding  and  terrorizing  those  dirty,  ill- 
behaved,  and  often  lying  and  thieving  women.  The  build- 
ing, a  dilapidated  private  house,  with  a  damp  ground  floor, 
to  which  alone  clients  were  admitted,  had  two  upper  sto- 
ries, each  comprising  six  rooms  arranged  as  dormitories,  in 
which  the  nurses  and  their  infants  slept.  There  was  no 
end  to  the  arrivals  and  departures  there :  the  peasant  women 
were  ever  galloping  through  the  place,  dragging  trunks  about, 
carrying  babes  in  swaddling  clothes,  and  filling  the  rooms 
and  the  passages  with  wild  cries  and  vile  odors.  And  amid 
all  this  the  house  had  another  inmate,  Mademoiselle  Bro- 
quette, Herminie  as  she  was  called,  a  long,  pale,  bloodless 
girl  of  fifteen,  who  mooned  about  languidly  among  that 
swarm  of  sturdy  young  women. 

Boutan,  who  knew  the  house  well,  went  in,  followed  by 


150  FRUITFULNESS 

Mathieu.  The  central  passage,  which  was  fairly  broad, 
ended  in  a  glass  door,  which  admitted  one  to  a  kind  of 
courtyard,  where  a  sickly  conifer  stood  on  a  round  patch  of 
grass,  which  the  dampness  rotted.  On  the  right  of  the 
passage  was  the  office,  whither  Madame  Broquette,  at  the 
request  of  her  customers,  summoned  the  nurses,  who  waited 
in  a  neighboring  room,  which  was  simply  furnished  with  a 
greasy  deal  table  in  the  centre.  The  furniture  of  the  office 
was  some  old  Empire  stuff,  upholstered  in  red  velvet.  There 
was  a  little  mahogany  centre  table,  and  a  gilt  clock.  Then, 
on  the  left  of  the  passage,  near  the  kitchen,  was  the  general 
refectory,  with  two  long  tables,  covered  with  oilcloth,  and 
surrounded  by  straggling  chairs,  whose  straw  seats  were 
badly  damaged.  Just  a  make-believe  sweep  with  a  broom 
was  given  there  every  day  :  one  could  divine  long-amassed, 
tenacious  dirt  in  every  dim  corner;  and  the  place  reeked 
with  an  odor  of  bad  cookery  mingled  with  that  of  sour 
milk. 

When  Boutan  thrust  open  the  office  door  he  saw  that 
Madame  Broquette  was  busy  with  an  old  gentleman,  who 
sat  there  inspecting  a  party  of  nurses.  She  recognized  the 
doctor,  and  made  a  gesture  of  regret.  "  No  matter,  no 
matter,"  he  exclaimed ;  "  I  am  not  in  a  hurry :  I  will 
wait." 

Through  the  open  door  Mathieu  had  caught  sight  of  Mad- 
emoiselle Herminie,  the  daughter  of  the  house,  ensconced  in 
one  of  the  red  velvet  armchairs  near  the  window,  and  dream- 
ily perusing  a  novel  there,  while  her  mother,  standing  up, 
extolled  her  goods  in  her  most  dignified  way  to  the  old 
gentleman,  who  gravely  contemplated  the  procession  of 
nurses  and  seemed  unable  to  make  up  his  mind. 

"  Let  us  have  a  look  at  the  garden,"  said  the  doctor, 
with  a  laugh. 

One  of  the  boasts  of  the  establishment,  indeed,  as  set 
forth  in  its  prospectus,  was  a  garden  and  a  tree  in  it,  as  if 
there  were  plenty  of  good  air  there,  as  in  the  country.  They 
opened  the  glass  door,  and  on  a  bench  near  the  tree  they 
saw  a  plump  girl,  who  doubtless  had  just  arrived,  pretend- 


FRUITFULNESS  151 

ing  to  clean  a  squealing  infant.  She  herself  looked  sordid, 
and  had  evidently  not  washed  since  her  journey.  In  one 
corner  there  was  an  overflow  of  kitchen  utensils,  a  pile  of 
cracked  pots  and  greasy  and  rusty  saucepans.  Then,  at 
the  other  end,  a  French  window  gave  access  to  the  nurses' 
waiting-room,  and  here  again  there  was  a  nauseous  specta- 
cle of  dirt  and  untidiness. 

All  at  once  Monsieur  Broquette  darted  forward,  though 
whence  he  had  come  it  was  hard  to  say.  At  all  events,  he 
had  seen  Boutan,  who  was  a  client  that  needed  attention. 
"  Is  my  wife  busy,  then  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  cannot  allow  you 
to  remain  waiting  here,  doctor.  Come,  come,  I  pray 
you." 

With  his  little  ferreting  eyes  he  had  caught  sight  of  the 
dirty  girl  cleaning  the  child,  and  he  was  anxious  that  his 
visitors  should  see  nothing  further  of  a  character  to  give 
them  a  bad  impression  of  the  establishment.  "  Pray,  doc- 
tor, follow  me,"  he  repeated,  and  understanding  that  an 
example  was  necessary,  he  turned  to  the  girl,  exclaiming, 
"  What  business  have  you  to  be  here  ?  Why  haven't  you 
gone  upstairs  to  wash  and  dress  ?  I  shall  fling  a  pailful  of 
water  in  your  face  if  you  don't  hurry  off  and  tidy  yourself." 

Then  he  forced  her  to  rise  and  drove  her  off,  all  scared 
and  terrified,  in  front  of  him.  When  she  had  gone  upstairs 
he  led  the  two  gentlemen  to  the  office  entrance  and  began 
to  complain  :  "  Ah  !  doctor,  if  you  only  knew  what  trou- 
ble I  have  even  to  get  those  girls  to  wash  their  hands  ! 
We  who  are  so  clean  !  who  put  all  our  pride  in  keeping  the 
house  clean.  If  ever  a  speck  of  dust  is  seen  anywhere 
it  is  certainly  not  my  fault." 

Since  the  girl  had  gone  upstairs  a  fearful  tumult  had 
arisen  on  the  upper  floors,  whence  also  a  vile  smell 
descended.  Some  dispute,  some  battle,  seemed  to  be  in 
progress.  There  were  shouts  and  howls,  followed  by  a 
furious  exchange  of  vituperation. 

"  Pray  excuse  me,"  at  last  exclaimed  Monsieur  Bro- 
quette ;  "  my  wife  will  receive  you  in  a  minute." 

Thereupon  he  slipped  off  and  flew  up  the  stairs  with 


1 52  FRUITFULNESS 

noiseless  agility.  And  directly  afterwards  there  was  an 
explosion.  Then  the  house  suddenly  sank  into  death-like 
silence.  All  that  could  be  heard  was  the  voice  of  Madame 
in  the  office,  as,  in  a  very  dignified  manner,  she  kept  on 
praising  her  goods. 

u  Well,  my  friend,"  said  Boutan  to  Mathieu,  while  they 
walked  up  and  down  the  passage,  "  all  this,  the  material 
side  of  things,  is  nothing.  What  you  should  see  and  know 
is  what  goes  on  in  the  minds  of  all  these  people.  And 
note  that  this  is  a  fair  average  place.  There  are  others 
which  are  real  d«ns,  and  which  the  police  sometimes  have 
to  close.  No  doubt  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  super- 
vision, and  there  are  severe  regulations  which  compel  the 
nurses  to  bring  certificates  of  morality,  books  setting  forth 
their  names,  ages,  parentage,  the  situations  they  have  held, 
and  so  on,  with  other  documents  on  which  they  have 
immediately  to  secure  a  signature  from  the  Prefecture, 
where  the  final  authorization  is  granted  them.  But  these 
precautions  don't  prevent  fraud  and  deceit  of  various  kinds. 
The  women  assert  that  they  have  only  recently  begun 
nursing,  when  they  have  been  doing  it  for  months ;  they 
show  you  superb  children  which  they  have  borrowed  and 
which  they  assert  to  be  their  own.  And  there  are  many 
other  tricks  to  which  they  resort  in  their  eagerness  to  make 
money." 

As  the  doctor  and  Mathieu  chatted  on,  they  paused  for 
a  moment  near  the  door  of  the  refectory,  which  chanced 
to  be  open,  and  there,  among  other  young  peasant-women, 
they  espied  La  Couteau  hastily  partaking  of  cold  meat. 
Doubtless  she  had  just  arrived  from  Rougemont,  and,  after 
disposing  of  the  batch  of  nurses  she  had  brought  with  her, 
was  seeking  sustenance  for  the  various  visits  which  she 
would  have  to  make  before  returning  home.  The  refec- 
tory, with  its  wine-stained  tables  and  greasy  walls,  cast  a 
smell  like  that  of  a  badly-kept  sink. 

"  Ah !  so  you  know  La  Couteau !  "  exclaimed  Boutan, 
when  Mathieu  had  told  him  of  his  meetings  with  the 
woman.  "Then  you  know  the  depths  of  crime.  La 


FRUITFULNESS  153 

Couteau  is  an  ogress  !  And  yet,  think  of  it,  with  our  fine 
social  organization,  she  is  more  or  less  useful,  and  perhaps 
I  myself  shall  be  happy  to  choose  one  of  the  nurses  that  she 
has  brought  with  her." 

At  this  moment  Madame  Broquette  very  amiably  asked 
the  visitors  into  her  office.  After  long  reflection,  the  old 
gentleman  had  gone  off  without  selecting  any  nurse,  but 
saying  that  he  would  return  some  other  time. 

"There  are  folks  who  don't  know  their  own  minds," 
said  Madame  Broquette  sententiously.  "  It  isn't  my  fault, 
and  I  sincerely  beg  you  to  excuse  me,  doctor.  If  you 
want  a  good  nurse  you  will  be  satisfied,  for  I  have  just 
received  some  excellent  ones  from  the  provinces.  I  will 
show  you." 

Herminie,  meanwhile,  had  not  condescended  to  raise  her 
nose  from  her  novel.  She  remained  ensconced  in  her  arm- 
chair, still  reading,  with  a  weary,  bored  expression  on  her 
anaemic  countenance.  Mathieu,  after  sitting  down  a 
little  on  one  side,  contented  himself  with  looking  on, 
while  Boutan  stood  erect,  attentive  to  every  detail,  like 
a  commander  reviewing  his  troops.  And  the  procession 
began. 

Having  opened  a  door  which  communicated  with  the 
common  room,  Madame  Broquette,  assuming  the  most 
noble  airs,  leisurely  introduced  the  pick  of  her  nurses,  in 
groups  of  three,  each  with  her  infant  in  her  arms.  About 
a  dozen  were  thus  inspected :  short  ones  with  big  heavy 
limbs,  tall  ones  suggesting  maypoles,  dark  ones  with  coarse 
stiff  hair,  fair  ones  with  the  whitest  of  skins,  quick  ones 
and  slow  ones,  ugly  ones  and  others  who  were  pleasant- 
looking.  All,  however,  wore  the  same  nervous,  silly  smile, 
all  swayed  themselves  with  embarrassed  timidity,  the  anx- 
ious mien  of  the  bondswoman  at  the  slave  market,  who 
fears  that  she  may  not  find  a  purchaser.  They  clumsily 
tried  to  put  on  graceful  ways,  radiant  with  internal  joy 
directly  a  customer  seemed  to  nibble,  but  clouding  over  and 
casting  black  glances  at  their  companions  when  the  latter 
seemed  to  have  the  better  chance.  Out  of  the  dozen  the 


154  FRUITFULNESS 

doctor  began  by  setting  three  aside,  and  finally  he  detained 
but  one,  in  order  that  he  might  study  her  more  fully. 

"  One  can  see  that  Monsieur  le  Docteur  knows  his 
business,"  Madame  Broquette  allowed  herself  to  say,  with 
a  flattering  smile.  "I  don't  often  have  such  pearls.  But 
she  has  only  just  arrived,  otherwise  she  would  probably 
have  been  engaged  already.  I  can  answer  for  her  as  I 
could  for  myself,  for  I  have  put  her  out  before." 

The  nurse  was  a  dark  woman  of  about  twenty-six,  of 
average  height,  built  strongly  enough,  but  having  a  heavy, 
common  face  with  a  hard-looking  jaw.  Having  already 
been  in  service,  however,  she  held  herself  fairly  well. 

"  So  that  child  is  not  your  first  one  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  No,  monsieur,  he's  my  third." 

Then  Boutan  inquired  into  her  circumstances,  studied 
her  papers,  took  her  into  Madame  Broquette's  private  room 
for  examination,  and  on  his  return  make  a  minute  inspec- 
tion of  her  child,  a  strong  plump  boy,  some  three  months 
old,  who  in  the  interval  had  remained  very  quiet  on  an 
armchair.  The  doctor  seemed  satisfied,  but  he  suddenly 
raised  his  head  to  ask,  "  And  that  child  is  really  your  own  ?  " 

"  Oh !  monsieur,  where  could  I  have  got  him  otherwise  ? " 

"  Oh  !  my  girl,  children  are  borrowed,  you  know." 

Then  he  paused  for  a  moment,  still  hesitating  and  look- 
ing at  the  young  woman,  embarrassed  by  some  feeling  of 
doubt,  although  she  seemed  to  embody  all  requirements. 
"  And  are  you  all  quite  well  in  your  family  ?  "  he  asked ; 
"  have  none  of  your  relatives  ever  died  of  chest  com- 
plaints ?  " 

"  Never,  monsieur." 

"Well,  of  course  you  would  not  tell  me  if  they  had. 
Your  books  ought  to  contain  a  page  for  information  of  that 
kind.  And  you,  are  you  of  sober  habits  ?  You  don't 
drink?" 

"  Oh  !  monsieur." 

This  time  the  young  woman  bristled  up,  and  Boutan  had 
to  calm  her.  Then  her  face  brightened  with  pleasure  as 
soon  as  the  doctor  —  with  the  gesture  of  a  man  who  is 


FRUITFULNESS  155 

taking  his  chance,  for  however  careful  one  may  be  there 
is  always  an  element  of  chance  in  such  matters  —  said  to 
her :  "  Well,  it  is  understood,  I  engage  you.  If  you  can 
send  your  child  away  at  once,  you  can  go  this  evening  to 
the  address  I  will  give  you.  Let  me  see,  what  is  your 
name  ? " 

"  Marie  Lebleu." 

Madame  Broquette,  who,  without  presuming  to  interfere 
with  a  doctor,  had  retained  her  majestic  air  which  so  fully 
proclaimed  the  high  respectability  of  her  establishment,  now 
turned  towards  her  daughter :  "  Herminie,  go  to  see  if 
Madame  Couteau  is  still  there." 

Then,  as  the  girl  slowly  raised  her  pale  dreamy  eyes 
without  stirring  from  her  chair,  her  mother  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  she  had  better  execute  the  commission 
herself.  A  moment  later  she  came  back  with  La  Couteau. 

The  doctor  was  now  settling  money  matters.  Eighty 
francs  a  month  for  the  nurse ;  and  forty-five  francs  for  her 
board  and  lodging  at  the  agency  and  Madame  Broquette's 
charges.  Then  there  was  the  question  of  her  child's  return 
to  the  country,  which  meant  another  thirty  francs,  without 
counting  a  gratuity  to  La  Couteau. 

u  I'm  going  back  this  evening,"  said  the  latter ;  "  I'm 
quite  willing  to  take  the  little  one  with  me.  In  the  Avenue 
d'Antin,  did  you  say  ?  Oh  !  I  know,  there's  a  lady's  maid 
from  my  district  in  that  house.  Marie  can  go  there  at  once. 
When  I've  settled  my  business,  in  a  couple  of  hours,  I  will 
go  and  rid  her  of  her  baby." 

On  entering  the  office,  La  Couteau  had  glanced  askance 
at  Mathieu,  without,  however,  appearing  to  recognize  him. 
He  had  remained  on  his  chair  silently  watching  the  scene 
—  first  an  inspection  as  of  cattle  at  a  market,  and  then  a 
bargaining,  the  sale  of  a  mother's  milk.  And  by  degrees 
pity  and  revolt  had  filled  his  heart.  But  a  shudder  passed 
through  him  when  La  Couteau  turned  towards  the  quiet, 
fine-looking  child,  of  which  she  promised  to  rid  the  nurse. 
And  once  more  he  pictured  her  with  her  five  companions 
at  the  St.-Lazare  railway  station,  each,  like  some  voracious 


156  FRUITFULNESS 

crow,  with  a  new-born  babe  in  her  clutches.  It  was  the 
pillaging  beginning  afresh ;  life  and  hope  were  again  being 
stolen  from  Paris.  And  this  time,  as  the  doctor  said,  a 
double  murder  was  threatened;  for,  however  careful  one 
may  be,  the  employer's  child  often  dies  from  another's  milk, 
and  the  nurse's  child,  carried  back  into  the  country  like  a 
parcel,  is  killed  with  neglect  and  indigestible  pap. 

But  everything  was  now  settled,  and  so  the  doctor  and 
his  companion  drove  away  to  Crenelle.  And  there,  at  the 
very  entrance  of  the  Beauchene  works,  came  a  meeting 
which  again  filled  Mathieu  with  emotion.  Morange,  the 
accountant,  was  returning  to  his  work  after  dejeuner,  ac- 
companied by  his  daughter  Reine,  both  of  them  dressed  in 
deep  mourning.  On  the  morrow  of  Valerie's  funeral, 
Morange  had  returned  to  his  work  in  a  state  of  prostration 
which  almost  resembled  forgetfulness.  It  was  clear  that 
he  had  abandoned  all  ambitious  plans  of  quitting  the  works 
to  seek  a  big  fortune  elsewhere.  Still  he  could  not  make 
up  his  mind  to  leave  his  flat,  though  it  was  now  too  large 
for  him,  besides  being  too  expensive.  But  then  his  wife 
had  lived  in  those  rooms,  and  he  wished  to  remain  in  them. 
And,  moreover,  he  desired  to  provide  his  daughter  with  all 
comfort.  All  the  affection  of  his  weak  heart  was  now 
given  to  that  child,  whose  resemblance  to  her  mother  dis- 
tracted him.  He  would  gaze  at  her  for  hours  with  tears 
in  his  eyes.  A  great  passion  was  springing  up  within  him; 
his  one  dream  now  was  to  dower  her  richly  and  seek  hap- 
piness through  her,  if  indeed  he  could  ever  be  happy  again. 
Thus  feelings  of  avarice  had  come  to  him ;  he  economized 
with  respect  to  everything  that  was  not  connected  with  her, 
and  secretly  sought  supplementary  work  in  order  that  he 
might  give  her  more  luxury  and  increase  her  dower. 
Without  her  he  would  have  died  of  weariness  and  self- 
abandonment.  She  was  indeed  fast  becoming  his  very 
life. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  she  with  a  pretty  smile,  in  answer  to 
a  question  which  Boutan  put  to  her,  "  it  is  I  who  have 
brought  poor  papa  back.  I  wanted  to  be  sure  that  he 


FRUITFULNESS  157 

would  take  a  stroll  before  setting  to  work  again.  Other- 
wise he  shuts  himself  up  in  his  room  and  doesn't  stir." 

Morange  made  a  vague  apologetic  gesture.  At  home, 
indeed,  overcome  as  he  was  by  grief  and  remorse,  he  lived 
in  his  bedroom  in  the  company  of  a  collection  of  his  wife's 
portraits,  some  fifteen  photographs,  showing  her  at  all  ages, 
which  he  had  hung  on  the  walls. 

"  It  is  very  fine  to-day,  Monsieur  Morange,"  said  Boutan, 
41  you  do  right  in  taking  a  stroll." 

The  unhappy  man  raised  his  eyes  in  astonishment,  and 
glanced  at  the  sun  as  if  he  had  not  previously  noticed  it. 
"That  is  true,  it  is  fine  weather  —  and  besides  it  is  very 
good  for  Reine  to  go  out  a  little." 

Then  he  tenderly  gazed  at  her,  so  charming,  so  pink  and 
white  in  her  black  mourning  gown.  He  was  always  fear- 
ing that  she  must  feel  bored  during  the  long  hours  when  he 
left  her  at  home,  alone  with  the  servant.  To  him  solitude 
was  so  distressful,  so  full  of  the  wife  whom  he  mourned, 
and  whom  he  accused  himself  of  having  killed. 

"  Papa  won't  believe  that  one  never  feels  ennui  at  my 
age,"  said  the  girl  gayly.  "  Since  my  poor  mamma 
is  no  longer  there,  I  must  needs  be  a  little  woman. 
And,  besides,  the  Baroness  sometimes  calls  to  take  me 
out." 

Then  she  gave  a  shrill  cry  on  seeing  a  brougham  draw 
up  close  to  the  curb.  A  woman  was  leaning  out  of  the 
window,  and  she  recognized  her. 

"Why,  papa,  there  is  the  Baroness!  She  must  have 
gone  to  our  house,  and  Clara  must  have  told  her  that  I 
had  accompanied  you  here." 

This,  indeed,  was  what  had  happened.  Morange  hastily 
led  Reine  to  the  carriage,  from  which  Seraphine  did  not  alight. 
And  when  his  daughter  had  sprung  in  joyously,  he  remained 
there  another  moment,  effusively  thanking  the  Baroness, 
and  delighted  to  think  that  his  dear  child  was  going  to 
amuse  herself.  Then,  after  watching  the  brougham  till  it 
disappeared,  he  entered  the  factory,  looking  suddenly  aged 
and  shrunken,  as  if  his  grief  had  fallen  on  his  shouldqrs 


158  FRUITFULNESS 

once  more,  so  overwhelming  him  that  he  quite  forgot  the 
others,  and  did  not  even  take  leave  of  them. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  muttered  Mathieu,  who  had  turned  icy 
cold  on  seeing  Seraphine's  bright  mocking  face  and  red  hair 
at  the  carriage  window. 

Then  he  was  going  to  his  office  when  Beauchene  beck- 
oned to  him  from  one  of  the  windows  of  the  house  to  come 
in  with  the  doctor.  The  pair  of  them  found  Constance 
and  Maurice  in  the  little  drawing-room,  whither  the  father 
had  repaired  to  finish  his  coffee  and  smoke  a  cigar.  Boutan 
immediately  attended  to  the  child,  who  was  much  better 
with  respect  to  his  legs,  but  who  still  suffered  from  stomachic 
disturbance,  the  slightest  departure  from  the  prescribed  diet 
leading  to  troublesome  complications. 

Constance,  though  she  did  not  confess  it,  had  become 
really  anxious  about  the  boy,  and  questioned  the  doctor, 
and  listened  to  him  with  all  eagerness.  While  she  was 
thus  engaged  Beauchene  drew  Mathieu  on  one  side. 

"  I  say,"  he  began,  laughing,  "  why  did  you  not  tell  me 
that  everything  was  finished  over  yonder  ?  I  met  the  pretty 
blonde  in  the  street  yesterday." 

Mathieu  quietly  replied  that  he  had  waited  to  be  ques- 
tioned in  order  to  render  an  account  of  his  mission,  for  he 
had  not  cared  to  be  the  first  to  raise  such  a  painful  subject. 
The  money  handed  to  him  for  expenses  had  proved  suffi- 
cient, and  whenever  the  other  desired  it,  he  could  produce 
receipts  for  his  various  disbursements.  He  was  already 
entering  into  particulars  when  Beauchene  jovially  inter- 
rupted him. 

"  You  know  what  happened  here  ?  She  had  the  audacity 
to  come  and  ask  for  work,  not  of  me  of  course,  but  of  the 
foreman  of  the  women's  work-room.  Fortunately  I  had 
foreseen  this  and  had  given  strict  orders ;  so  the  foreman 
told  her  that  considerations  of  order  and  discipline  prevented 
him  from  taking  her  back.  Her  sister  Euphrasie,  who 
is  to  be  married  next  week,  is  still  working  here.  Just 
fancy  them  having  another  set-to !  Besides,  her  place  is 
not  here." 


FRUITFULNESS  159 

Then  he  went  to  take  a  little  glass  of  cognac  which 
stood  on  the  mantelpiece. 

Mathieu  had  learnt  only  the  day  before  that  Norine,  on 
leaving  Madame  Bourdieu's,  had  sought  a  temporary  refuge 
with  a  female  friend,  not  caring  to  resume  a  life  of  quarrel- 
ling at  her  parents'  home.  Besides  her  attempt  to  regain 
admittance  at  Beauchene's,  she  had  applied  at  two  other 
establishments ;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  did  not  evince 
any  particular  ardor  in  seeking  to  obtain  work.  Four 
months'  idleness  and  coddling  had  altogether  disgusted  her 
with  a  factory  hand's  life,  and  the  inevitable  was  bound  to 
happen.  Indeed  Beauchene,  as  he  came  back  sipping  his 
cognac,  resumed  :  u  Yes,  I  met  her  in  the  street.  She  was 
quite  smartly  dressed,  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  big, 
bearded  young  fellow,  who  did  nothing  but  make  eyes  at 
her.  It  was  certain  to  come  to  that,  you  know.  I  always 
thought  so." 

Then  he  was  stepping  towards  his  wife  and  the  doctor, 
when  he  remembered  something  else,  came  back,  and  asked 
Mathieu  in  a  yet  lower  tone,  "  What  was  it  you  were 
telling  me  about  the  child  ?  "  And  as  soon  as  Mathieu  had 
related  that  he  had  taken  the  infant  to  the  Foundling  Hos- 
pital so  as  to  be  certain  that  it  was  deposited  there,  he 
warmly  pressed  his  hand.  "That's  perfect.  Thank  you, 
my  dear  fellow ;  I  shall  be  at  peace  now." 

He  felt,  indeed,  intensely  relieved,  hummed  a  lively  air, 
and  then  took  his  stand  before  Constance,  who  was  still 
consulting  the  doctor.  She  was  holding  little  Maurice 
against  her  knees,  and  gazing  at  him  with  the  jealous  love 
of  a  good  bourgeoise,  who  carefully  watched  over  the  health 
of  her  only  son,  that  son  whom  she  wished  to  make  a 
prince  of  industry  and  wealth.  All  at  once,  however, 
in  reply  to  a  remark  from  Boutan,  she  exclaimed  :  "  Why 
then,  doctor,  you  think  me  culpable  ?  You  really  say  that  a 
child,  nursed  by  his  mother,  always  has  a  stronger  constitu- 
tion than  others,  and  can  the  better  resist  the  ailments  of 
childhood  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  there  is  no  doubt  of  it,  madame." 


160  FRUITFULNESS 

Beauchene,  ceasing  to  chew  his  cigar,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  burst  into  a  sonorous  laugh  :  "  Oh  !  don't 
you  worry,  that  youngster  will  live  to  be  a  hundred  !  Why, 
the  Burgundian  who  nursed  him  was  as  strong  as  a  rock ! 
But,  I  say,  doctor,  you  intend  then  to  make  the  Chambers 
pass  a  law  for  obligatory  nursing  by  mothers  ?  " 

At  this  sally  Boutan  also  began  to  laugh.  "  Well,  why 
not  ?  "  said  he. 

This  at  once  supplied  Beauchene  with  material  for  innu- 
merable jests.  Why,  such  a  law  would  completely  upset 
manners  and  customs,  social  life  would  be  suspended,  and 
drawing-rooms  would  become  deserted  !  Posters  would  be 
placarded  everywhere  bearing  the  inscription  :  "  Closed  on 
account  of  nursing." 

u  Briefly,"  said  Beauchene,  in  conclusion,  "  you  want  to 
have  a  revolution." 

"A  revolution,  yes,"  the  doctor  gently  replied,  "and  we 
will  effect  it." 


X 

MATHIEU  finished  studying  his  great  scheme,  the  clearing 
and  cultivation  of  Chantebled,  and  at  last,  contrary  to  all 
prudence  but  with  all  the  audacity  of  fervent  faith  and  hope, 
it  was  resolved  upon.  He  warned  Beauchene  one  morning 
that  he  should  leave  the  works  at  the  end  of  the  month,  for 
on  the  previous  day  he  had  spoken  to  Seguin,  and  had 
found  him  quite  willing  to  sell  the  little  pavilion  and  some 
fifty  acres  around  it  on  very  easy  terms.  As  Mathieu  had 
imagined,  Seguin's  affairs  were  in  a  very  muddled  state,  for 
he  had  lost  large  sums  at  the  gaming  table  and  spent  money 
recklessly  on  women,  leading  indeed  a  most  disastrous  life 
since  trouble  had  arisen  in  his  home.  And  so  he  welcomed 
the  transaction  which  Mathieu  proposed  to  him,  in  the  hope 
that  the  young  man  would  end  by  ridding  him  of  the  whole 
of  that  unprofitable  estate  should  his  first  experiment  prove 
successful.  Then  came  other  interviews  between  them, 
and  Seguin  finally  consented  to  sell  on  a  system  of  annual 
payments,  spread  over  a  term  of  years,  the  first  to  be  made 
in  two  years'  time  from  that  date.  As  things  stood,  the 
property  seemed  likely  to  remain  unremunerative  forever, 
and  so  there  was  nothing  risked  in  allowing  the  purchaser 
a  couple  of  years'  credit.  However,  they  agreed  to  meet 
once  more  and  settle  the  final  details  before  a  formal  deed 
of  sale  was  drawn  up.  And  one  Monday  morning,  there- 
fore, about  ten  o'clock,  Mathieu  set  out  for  the  house  in 
the  Avenue  d'Antin  in  order  to  complete  the  business. 

That  morning,  as  it  happened,  Celeste  the  maid  received 
in  the  linen  room,  where  she  usually  remained,  a  visit  from 
her  friend  Madame  Menoux,  the  little  haberdasher  of  the 
neighborhood,  in  whose  tiny  shop  she  was  so  fond -of  gossip- 
ing. They  had  become  more  intimate  than  ever  since  La 
M  161 


162  FRUITFULNESS 

Couteau,  at  Celeste's  instigation,  had  taken  Madame  Me- 
noux's  child,  Pierre,  to  Rougemont,  to  be  put  out  to  nurse 
there  in  the  best  possible  way  for  the  sum  of  thirty  francs  a 
month.  La  Couteau  had  also  very  complaisantly  promised 
to  call  each  month  at  one  or  another  of  her  journeys  in 
order  to  receive  the  thirty  francs,  thereby  saving  the  mother 
the  trouble  of  sending  the  money  by  post,  and  also  enabling 
her  to  obtain  fresh  news  of  her  child.  Thus,  each  time  a 
payment  became  due,  if  La  Couteau's  journey  happened  to 
be  delayed  a  single  day,  Madame  Menoux  grew  terribly 
frightened,  and  hastened  off  to  Celeste  to  make  inquiries  of 
her.  And,  moreover,  she  was  glad  to  have  an  opportunity 
of  conversing  with  this  girl,  who  came  from  the  very  part 
where  her  little  Pierre  was  being  reared. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  won't  you,  mademoiselle,  for  call- 
ing so  early,"  said  she,  "  but  you  told  me  that  your  lady 
never  required  you  before  nine  o'clock.  And  I've  come,  you 
know,  because  I've  had  no  news  from  over  yonder,  and  it 
occurred  to  me  that  you  perhaps  might  have  received  a  letter. 

Blonde,  short  and  thin,  Madame  Menoux,  who  was  the 
daughter  of  a  poor  clerk,  had  a  slender  pale  face,  and  a 
pleasant,  but  somewhat  sad,  expression.  From  her  own 
slightness  of  build  probably  sprang  her  passionate  admira- 
tion for  her  big,  handsome  husband,  who  could  have  crushed 
her  between  his  ringers.  If  she  was  slight,  however,  she  was 
endowed  with  unconquerable  tenacity  and  courage,  and  she 
would  have  killed  herself  with  hard  work  to  provide  him  with 
the  coffee  and  'cognac  which  he  liked  to  sip  after  each  repast. 

"  Ah  !  it's  hard,"  she  continued,  "  to  have  had  to  send 
our  Pierre  so  far  away.  As  it  is,  I  don't  see  my  husband 
all  day,  and  now  I've  a  child  whom  I  never  see  at  all.  But 
the  misfortune  is  that  one  has  to  live,  and  how  could  I  have 
kept  the  little  fellow  in  that  tiny  shop  of  mine,  where  from 
morning  till  night  I  never  have  a  moment  to  spare  !  Yet, 
I  can't  help  crying  at  the  thought  that  I  wasn't  able  to  keep 
and  nurse  him.  When  my  husband  comes  home  from 
the  museum  every  evening,  we  do  nothing  but  talk  about 
him,  like  a  pair  of  fools.  And  so,  according  to  you, 


FRUITFULNESS  163 

mademoiselle,  that  place  Rougemont  is  very  healthy,  and 
there  are  never  any  nasty  illnesses  about  there  ?  " 

But  at  this  moment  she  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of 
another  early  visitor,  whose  advent  she  hailed  with  a  cry  of 
delight. 

"  Oh  !  how  happy  I  am  to  see  you,  Madame  Couteau  ! 
What  a  good  idea  it  was  of  mine  to  call  here  !  " 

Amid  exclamations  of  joyous  surprise,  the  nurse-agent 
explained  that  she  had  arrived  by  the  night  train  with  a 
batch  of  nurses,  and  had  started  on  her  round  of  visits  as 
soon  as  she  had  deposited  them  in  the  Rue  Roquepine. 

"After  bidding  Celeste  good-day  in  passing,"  said  she, 
"  I  intended  to  call  on  you,  my  dear  lady.  But  since  you  are 
here,  we  can  settle  our  accounts  here,  if  you  are  agreeable." 

Madame  Menoux,  however,  was  looking  at  her  very 
anxiously.  "  And  how  is  my  little  Pierre  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  not  so  bad,  not  so  bad .  He  is  not,  you 

know,  one  of  the  strongest ;  one  can't  say  that  he's  a  big 
child.  Only  he's  so  pretty  and  nice-looking  with  his 

rather  pale  face .  And  it's  quite  certain  that  if  there 

are  bigger  babies  than  he  is,  there  are  smaller  ones  too." 

She  spoke  more  slowly  as  she  proceeded,  and  carefully 
sought  words  which  might  render  the  mother  anxious, 
without  driving  her  to  despair.  These  were  her  usual 
tactics  in  order  to  disturb  her  customers'  hearts,  and  then 
extract  as  much  money  from  them  as  possible.  On  this 
occasion  she  must  have  guessed  that  she  might  carry  things 
so  far  as  to  ascribe  a  slight  illness  to  the  child. 

"  However,  I  must  really  tell  you,  because  I  don't  know 

how  to  lie ;  and  besides,  after  all,  it's  my  duty .  Well, 

the  poor  little  darling  has  been  ill,  and  he's  not  quite  well 
again  yet." 

Madame  Menoux  turned  very  pale  and  clasped  her  puny 
little  hands  :  "  Man  Dieu  !  he  will  die  of  it." 

"  No,  no,  since  I  tell  you  that  he's  already  a  little  better. 
And  certainly  he  doesn't  lack  good  care.  You  should  just 
see  how  La  Loiseau  coddles  him  !  When  children  are 
well  behaved  they  soon  get  themselves  loved  .  And 


1 64  FRUITFULNESS 

the  whole  house  is  at  his  service,  and  no  expense  is  spared  ! 
The  doctor  came  twice,  and  there  was  even  some  medi- 
cine — .  And  that  costs  money." 

The  last  words  fell  from  La  Couteau's  lips  with  the 
weight  of  a  club.  Then,  without  leaving  the  scared,  trem- 
bling mother  time  to  recover,  the  nurse-agent  continued : 
"  Shall  we  go  into  our  accounts,  my  dear  lady  ? " 

Madame  Menoux,  who  had  intended  to  make  a  pay- 
ment before  returning  to  her  shop,  was  delighted  to  have 
some  money  with  her.  They  looked  for  a  slip  of  paper  on 
which  to  set  down  the  figures ;  first  the  month's  nursing, 
thirty  francs  ;  then  the  doctor,  six  francs  ;  and  indeed,  with 
the  medicine,  that  would  make  ten  francs. 

"  Ah  !  and  besides,  I  meant  to  tell  you,"  added  La  Cou- 
teau,  "  that  so  much  linen  was  dirtied  during  his  illness  that 
you  really  ought  to  add  three  francs  for  the  soap.  That 
would  only  be  just;  and  besides,  there  were  other  little 
expenses,  sugar,  and  eggs,  so  that  in  your  place,  to  act  like 
a  good  mother,  I  should  put  down  five  francs.  Forty-five 
francs  altogether,  will  that  suit  you  ?  " 

In  spite  of  her  emotion  Madame  Menoux  felt  that  she 
was  being  robbed,  that  the  other  was  speculating  on  her 
distress.  She  made  a  gesture  of  surprise  and  revolt  at  the 
idea  of  having  to  give  so  much  money  —  that  money  which 
she  found  so  hard  to  earn.  No  end  of  cotton  and  needles 
had  to  be  sold  to  get  such  a  sum  together !  And  her  dis- 
tress, between  the  necessity  of  economy  on  the  one  hand 
and  her  maternal  anxiety  on  the  other,  would  have  touched 
the  hardest  heart. 

"  But  that  will  make  another  half-month's  money,"  said 
she. 

At  this  La  Couteau  put  on  her  most  frigid  air :  "  Well, 
what  would  you  have  ?  It  isn't  my  fault.  One  can't  let 
your  child  die,  so  one  must  incur  the  necessary  expenses. 
And  then,  if  you  haven't  confidence  in  me,  say  so;  send 
the  money  and  settle  things  direct.  Indeed,  that  will  greatly 
relieve  me,  for  in  all  this  I  lose  my  time  and  trouble;  but 
then,  I'm  always  stupid  enough  to  be  too  obliging." 


FRUITFULNESS  165 

When  Madame  Menoux,  again  quivering  and  anxious, 
had  given  way,  another  difficulty  arose.  She  had  only  some 
gold  with  her,  two  twenty-franc  pieces  and  one  ten-franc 
piece.  The  three  coins  lay  glittering  on  the  table.  La 
Couteau  looked  at  them  with  her  yellow  fixed  eyes. 

41  Well,  I  can't  give  you  your  five  francs  change,"  she 
said,  "  I  haven't  any  change  with  me.  And  you,  Celeste, 
have  you  any  change  for  this  lady  ? " 

She  risked  asking  this  question,  but  put  it  in  such  a  tone 
and  with  such  a  glance  that  the  other  immediately  under- 
stood her.  "  I  have  not  a  copper  in  my  pocket,"  she 
replied. 

Deep  silence  fell.  Then,  with  bleeding  heart  and  a 
gesture  of  cruel  resignation,  Madame  Menoux  did  what 
was  expected  of  her. 

"  Keep  those  five  francs  for  yourself,  Madame  Couteau, 
since  you  have  to  take  so  much  trouble.  And,  man  Dieu  ! 
may  all  this  money  bring  me  good  luck,  and  at  least  enable 
my  poor  little  fellow  to  grow  up  a  fine  handsome  man  like  his 
father." 

"  Oh  !  as  for  that  I'll  warrant  it,"  cried  the  other,  with 
enthusiasm.  "  Those  little  ailments  don't  mean  anything 
—  on  the  contrary.  I  see  plenty  of  little  folks,  I  do ; 
and  so  just  remember  what  I  tell  you,  yours  will  become 
an  extraordinarily  fine  child.  There  won't  be  better." 

When  Madame  Menoux  went  off,  La  Couteau  had 
lavished  such  flattery  and  such  promises  upon  her  that  she 
felt  quite  light  and  gay ;  no  longer  regretting  her  money, 
but  dreaming  of  the  day  when  little  Pierre  would  come  back 
to  her  with  plump  cheeks  and  all  the  vigor  of  a  young  oak. 

As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  behind  the  haberdasher, 
Celeste  began  to  laugh  in  her  impudent  way  :  "  What  a 
lot  of  fibs  you  told  her  !  I  don't  believe  that  her  child  so 
much  as  caught  a  cold,"  she  exclaimed. 

La  Couteau  began  by  assuming  a  dignified  air :  "  Say 
that  I'm  a  liar  at  once.  The  child  isn't  well,  I  assure 
you." 

The  maid's  gayety  only  increased  at  this.     "  Well  now, 


166  FRUITFULNESS 

you  are  really  comical,  putting  on  such  airs  with  me.  I 
know  you,  remember,  and  I  know  what  is  meant  when  the 
tip  of  your  nose  begins  to  wriggle." 

"The  child  is  quite  puny,"  repeated  her  friend,  more 
gently. 

"  Oh  !  I  can  believe  that.  All  the  same  I  should  like 
to  see  the  doctor's  prescriptions,  and  the  soap  and  the 
sugar.  But,  you  know,  I  don't  care  a  button  about  the 
matter.  As  for  that  little  Madame  Menoux,  it's  here 
to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.  She  has  her  business,  and  I 
have  mine.  And  you,  too,  have  yours,  and  so  much  the 
better  if  you  get  as  much  out  of  it  as  you  can." 

But  La  Couteau  changed  the  conversation  by  asking  the 
maid  if  she  could  not  give  her  a  drop  of  something  to  drink, 
for  night  travelling  did  upset  her  stomach  so.  Thereupon 
Celeste,  with  a  laugh,  took  a  bottle  half-full  of  malaga  and 
a  box  of  biscuits  from  the  bottom  of  a  cupboard.  This 
was  her  little  secret  store,  stolen  from  the  still-room.  Then, 
as  the  other  expressed  a  fear  that  her  mistress  might  sur- 
prise them,  she  made  a  gesture  of  insolent  contempt.  Her 
mistress  !  Why,  she  had  her  nose  in  her  basins  and  per- 
fumery pots,  and  wasn't  at  all  likely  to  call  till  she  had 
fixed  herself  up  so  as  to  look  pretty. 

"  There  are  only  the  children  to  fear,"  added  Celeste  ; 
"  that  Gaston  and  that  Lucie,  a  couple  of  brats  who  are 
always  after  one  because  their  parents  never  trouble  about 
them,  but  let  them  come  and  play  here  or  in  the  kitchen 
from  morning  till  night.  And  I  don't  dare  lock  this  door, 
for  fear  they  should  come  rapping  and  kicking  at  it." 

When,  by  way  of  precaution,  she  had  glanced  down  the 
passage  and  they  had  both  seated  themselves  at  table,  they 
warmed  and  spoke  out  their  minds,  soon  reaching  a  stage 
of  easy  impudence  and  saying  everything  as  if  quite  uncon- 
scious how  abominable  it  was.  While  sipping  her  wine 
Celeste  asked  for  news  of  the  village,  and  La  Couteau  spoke 
the  brutal  truth,  between  two  biscuits.  It  was  at  the  Vimeux' 
house  that  the  servant's  last  child,  born  in  La  Rouche's  den, 
had  died  a  fortnight  after  arriving  at  Rougemont,  and  the 


FRUITFULNESS  167 

Vimeux,  who  were  more  or  less  her  cousins,  had  sent  her  their 
friendly  remembrances  and  the  news  that  they  were  about  to 
marry  off  their  daughter.  Then,  at  La  Gavette's,  the  old 
grandfather,  who  looked  after  the  nurslings  while  the  family 
was  at  work  in  the  fields,  had  fallen  into  the  fire  with  a  baby 
in  his  arms.  Fortunately  they  had  been  pulled  out  of  it,  and 
only  the  little  one  had  been  roasted.  La  Cauchois,  though 
at  heart  she  wasn't  downcast,  now  had  some  fears  that  she 
might  be  worried,  because  four  little  ones  had  gone  off  from 
her  house  all  in  a  body,  a  window  being  forgetfully  left  open 
at  night-time.  They  were  all  four  little  Parisians,  it  seemed 
—  two  foundlings  and  two  that  had  come  from  Madame 
Bourdieu's.  Since  the  beginning  of  the  year  as  many  had 
died  at  Rougemont  as  had  arrived  there,  and  the  mayor  had 
declared  that  far  too  many  were  dying,  and  that  the  village 
would  end  by  getting  a  bad  reputation.  One  thing  was 
certain,  La  Couillard  would  be  the  very  first  to  receive  a 
visit  from  the  gendarmes  if  she  didn't  so  arrange  matters  as 
to  keep  at  least  one  nursling  alive  every  now  and  then. 

"  Ah  ?  that  Couillard  ! "  added  the  nurse-agent.  "  Just 
fancy,  my  dear,  I  took  her  a  child,  a  perfect  little  angel  — 
the  boy  of  a  very  pretty  young  person  who  was  stopping  at 
Madame  Bourdieu's.  She  paid  four  hundred  francs  to 
have  him  brought  up  until  his  first  communion,  and  he 
lived  just  five  days!  Really  now,  that  wasn't  long  enough! 
La  Couillard  need  not  have  been  so  hasty.  It  put  me  in 
such  a  temper !  I  asked  her  if  she  wanted  to  dishonor 
me.  What  will  ruin  me  is  my  good  heart.  I  don't  know 
how  to  refuse  when  folks  ask  me  to  do  them  a  service. 
And  God  in  Heaven  knows  how  fond  I  am  of  children  ! 
I've  always  lived  among  them,  and  in  future,  if  anybody 
who's  a  friend  of  mine  gives  me  a  child  to  put  out  to 
nurse,  I  shall  say  :  "  We  won't  take  the  little  one  to  La 
Couillard,  for  it  would  be  tempting  Providence.  But 
after  all,  I'm  an  honest  woman,  and  I  wash  my  hands  of 
it,  for  if  I  do  take  the  cherubs  over  yonder  I  don't  nurse 
them.  And  when  one's  conscience  is  at  ease  one  can 
sleep  quietly." 


i68  FRUITFULNESS 

"  Of  course,"  chimed  in  Celeste,  with  an  air  of  con- 
viction. 

While  they  thus  waxed  maudlin  over  their  malaga,  there 
arose  a  horrible  red  vision  —  a  vision  of  that  terrible 
Rougemont,  paved  with  little  Parisians,  the  filthy,  bloody 
village,  the  charnel-place  of  cowardly  murder,  whose  steeple 
pointed  so  peacefully  to  the  skies  in  the  midst  of  the  far- 
spreading  plain. 

But  all  at  once  a  rush  was  heard  in  the  passage,  and  the 
servant  hastened  to  the  door  to  rid  herself  of  Gaston  and 
Lucie,  who  were  approaching.  "Be  off!  I  don't  want 
you  here.  Your  mamma  has  told  you  that  you  mustn't 
come  here." 

Then  she  came  back  into  the  room  quite  furious. 
"  That's  true  !  "  said  she ;  "  I  can  do  nothing  but  they 
must  come  to  bother  me.  Why  don't  they  stay  a  little 
with  the  nurse  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  by  the  way,"  interrupted  La  Couteau,  "  did  you 
hear  that  Marie  Lebleu's  little  one  is  dead  ?  She  must 
have  had  a  letter  about  it.  Such  a  fine  child  it  was  !  But 
what  can  one  expect  ?  it's  a  nasty  wind  passing.  And  then 
you  know  the  saying,  c  A  nurse's  child  is  the  child  of  sac- 
rifice ! ' " 

"  Yes,  she  told  me  she  had  heard  of  it,"  replied  Celeste, 
"  but  she  begged  me  not  to  mention  it  to  madame,  as 
such  things  always  have  a  bad  effect.  The  worst  is  that 
if  her  child's  dead  madame's  little  one  isn't  much  better 
off." 

At  this  La  Couteau  pricked  up  her  ears.  "  Ah !  so 
things  are  not  satisfactory  ?  " 

"No,  indeed.  It  isn't  on  account  of  her  milk;  that's 
good  enough,  and  she  has  plenty  of  it.  Only  you  never 
saw  such  a  creature  —  such  a  temper  !  always  brutal  and 
insolent,  banging  the  doors  and  talking  of  smashing  every- 
thing at  the  slightest  word.  And  besides,  she  drinks  like  a 
pig  —  as  no  woman  ought  to  drink." 

La  Couteau's  pale  eyes  sparkled  with  gayety,  and  she 
briskly  nodded  her  head  as  if  to  say  that  she  knew  all  this 


FRUITFULNESS  169 

and  had  been  expecting  it.  In  that  part  of  Normandy, 
in  and  around  Rougemont,  all  the  women  drank  more  or 
less,  and  the  girls  even  carried  little  bottles  of  brandy  to 
school  with  them  in  their  baskets.  Marie  Lebleu,  how- 
ever, was  a  woman  of  the  kind  that  one  picks  up  under 
the  table,  and,  indeed,  it  might  be  said  that  since  the  birth 
of  her  last  child  she  had  never  been  quite  sober. 

"  I  know  her,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  La  Couteau ;  "  she 
is  impossible.  But  then,  that  doctor  who  chose  her  didn't 
ask  my  opinion.  And,  besides,  it  isn't  a  matter  that  con- 
cerns me.  I  simply  bring  her  to  Paris  and  take  her  child 
back  to  the  country.  I  know  nothing  about  anything  else. 
Let  the  gentlefolks  get  out  of  their  trouble  by  themselves." 

This  sentiment  tickled  Celeste,  who  burst  out  laughing. 
"You  haven't  an  idea,"  said  she,  "  of  the  infernal  life  that 
Marie  leads  here !  She  fights  people,  she  threw  a  water- 
bottle  at  the  coachman,  she  broke  a  big  vase  in  madame's 
apartments,  she  makes  them  all  tremble  with  constant 
dread  that  something  awful  may  happen.  And,  then,  if 
you  knew  what  tricks  she  plays  to  get  something  to  drink ! 
For  it  was  found  out  that  she  drank,  and  all  the  liqueurs 
were  put  under  lock  and  key.  So  you  don't  know  what 
she  devised  ?  Well,  last  week  she  drained  a  whole  bottle 
of  Eau  de  Melisse,  and  was  ill,  quite  ill,  from  it.  Another 
time  she  was  caught  sipping  some  Eau  de  Cologne  from 
one  of  the  bottles  in  madame's  dressing-room.  I  now 
really  believe  that  she  treats  herself  to  some  of  the  spirits 
of  wine  that  are  given  her  for  the  warmer  !  —  it's  enough 
to  make  one  die  of  laughing.  I'm  always  splitting  my 
sides  over  it,  in  my  little  corner." 

Then  she  laughed  till  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes ;  and 
La  Couteau,  on  her  side  highly  amused,  began  to  wriggle 
with  a  savage  delight.  All  at  once,  however,  she  calmed 
down  and  exclaimed,  "  But,  I  say,  they  will  turn  her  out 
of  doors  ? " 

"  Oh  !  that  won't  be  long.  They  would  have  done  so 
already  if  they  had  dared." 

But  at  this  moment  the  ringing  of  a  bell  was  heard,  and 


i7o  FRUITFULNESS 

an  oath  escaped  Celeste.  "  Good  !  there's  madame  ring- 
ing for  me  now !  One  can  never  be  at  peace  for  a 
moment." 

La  Couteau,  however,  was  already  standing  up,  quite 
serious,  intent  on  business  and  ready  to  depart. 

"  Come,  little  one,  don't  be  foolish,  you  must  do  your 
work.  For  my  part  I  have  an  idea.  I'll  run  to  fetch  one 
of  the  nurses  whom  I  brought  this  morning,  a  girl  I  can 
answer  for  as  for  myself.  In  an  hour's  time  I'll  be  back 
here  with  her,  and  there  will  be  a  little  present  for  you  if 
you  help  me  to  get  her  the  situation." 

She  disappeared  while  the  maid,  before  answering  a  sec- 
ond ring,  leisurely  replaced  the  malaga  and  the  biscuits  at 
the  bottom  of  the  cupboard. 

At  ten  o'clock  that  day  Seguin  was  to  take  his  wife  and 
their  friend  Santerre  to  Mantes,  to  lunch  there,  by  way  of 
trying  an  electric  motor-car,  which  he  had  just  had  built  at 
considerable  expense.  He  had  become  fond  of  this  new 
"  sport,"  less  from  personal  taste,  however,  than  from  his 
desire  to  be  one  of  the  foremost  in  taking  up  a  new  fash- 
ion. And  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  time  fixed  for 
starting  he  was  already  in  his  spacious  "  cabinet,"  arrayed 
in  what  he  deemed  an  appropriate  costume  :  a  jacket  and 
breeches  of  greenish  ribbed  velvet,  yellow  shoes,  and  a 
little  leather  hat.  And  he  poked  fun  at  Santerre  when  the 
latter  presented  himself  in  town  attire,  a  light  gray  suit  of 
delicate  effect. 

Soon  after  Valentine  had  given  birth  to  her  daughter 
Andree,  the  novelist  had  again  become  a  constant  fre- 
quenter of  the  house  in  the  Avenue  d'Antin.  He  was 
intent  on  resuming  the  little  intrigue  that  he  had  begun 
there  and  felt  confident  of  victory.  Valentine,  on  her  side, 
after  a  period  of  terror  followed  by  great  relief,  had  set 
about  making  up  for  lost  time,  throwing  herself  more 
wildly  than  ever  into  the  vortex  of  fashionable  life.  She 
had  recovered  her  good  looks  and  youthfulness,  and  had 
never  before  experienced  such  a  desire  to  divert  herself, 
leaving  her  children  more  and  more  to  the  care  of  servants, 


FRUITFULNESS  171 

and  going  about,  hither  and  thither,  as  her  fancy  listed, 
particularly  since  her  husband  did  the  same  in  his  sudden 
fits  of  jealousy  and  brutality,  which  broke  out  every  now 
and  again  in  the  most  imbecile  fashion  without  the  slightest 
cause.  It  was  the  collapse  of  all  family  life,  with  the 
threat  of  a  great  disaster  in  the  future  ;  and  Santerre  lived 
there  in  the  midst  of  it,  helping  on  the  work  of  destruc- 
tion. 

He  gave  a  cry  of  rapture  when  Valentine  at  last  made 
her  appearance  gowned  in  a  delicious  travelling  dress,  with 
a  cavalier  toque  on  her  head.  But  she  was  not  quite  ready, 
for  she  darted  off  again,  saying  that  she  would  be  at  their 
service  as  soon  as  she  had  seen  her  little  Andree,  and 
given  her  last  orders  to  the  nurse. 

"  Well,  make  haste,"  cried  her  husband.  "  You  are 
quite  unbearable,  you  are  never  ready." 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Mathieu  called,  and  Seguin 

'  O 

received  him  in  order  to  express  his  regret  that  he  could 
not  that  day  go  into  business  matters  with  him.  Never- 
theless, before  fixing  another  appointment,  he  was  willing 
to  take  note  of  certain  conditions  which  the  other  wished 
to  stipulate  for  the  purpose  of  reserving  to  himself  the 
exclusive  right  of  purchasing  the  remainder  of  the  Chante- 
bled  estate  in  portions  and  at  fixed  dates.  Seguin  was 
promising  that  he  would  carefully  study  this  proposal  when 
he  was  cut  short  by  a  sudden  tumult  —  distant  shouts, 
wild  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and  a  violent  banging  of  doors. 

"  Why  !  what  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ? "  he  muttered,  turn- 
ing towards  the  shaking  walls. 

The  door  suddenly  opened  and  Valentine  reappeared, 
distracted,  red  with  fear  and  anger,  and  carrying  her  little 
Andree,  who  wailed  and  struggled  in  her  arms. 

"  There,  there,  my  pet,"  gasped  the  mother,  "  don't  cry, 
she  shan't  hurt  you  any  more.  There,  it's  nothing,  dar- 
ling ;  be  quiet,  do." 

Then  she  deposited  the  little  girl  in  a  large  armchair, 
where  she  at  once  became  quiet  again.  She  was  a  very 
pretty  child,  but  still  so  puny,  although  nearly  four  months 


FRUITFULNESS 

old,  that  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  but  her  beautiful  big 
eyes  in  her  pale  little  face. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Seguin,  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"The  matter  is,  my  friend,  that  I  have  just  found  Marie 
lying  across  the  cradle  as  drunk  as  a  market  porter,  and 
half  stifling  the  child.  If  I  had  been  a  few  moments  later 
it  would  have  been  all  over.  Drunk  at  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning !  Can  one  understand  such  a  thing  ?  I  had  no- 
ticed that  she  drank,  and  so  I  hid  the  liqueurs,  for  I  hoped 
to  be  able  to  keep  her,  since  her  milk  is  so  good.  But  do 
you  know  what  she  had  drunk  ?  Why,  the  methylated 
spirits  for  the  warmer !  The  empty  bottle  had  remained 
beside  her." 

"  But  what  did  she  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  She  simply  wanted  to  beat  me.  When  I  shook  her, 
she  flew  at  me  in  a  drunken  fury,  shouting  abominable 
words.  And  I  had  time  only  to  escape  with  the  little  one, 
while  she  began  barricading  herself  in  the  room,  where  she 
is  now  smashing  the  furniture  !  There  !  just  listen  !  " 

Indeed,  a  distant  uproar  of  destruction  reached  them. 
They  looked  one  at  the  other,  and  deep  silence  fell,  full  of 
embarrassment  and  alarm. 

"  And  then  ?  "  Seguin  ended  by  asking  in  his  curt  dry 
voice. 

"  Well,  what  can  I  say  ?  That  woman  is  a  brute  beast, 
and  I  can't  leave  Andree  in  her  charge  to  be  killed  by  her. 
I  have  brought  the  child  here,  and  I  certainly  shall  not  take 
her  back.  I  will  even  own  that  I  won't  run  the  risk  of 
going  back  to  the  room.  You  will  have  to  turn  the  girl 
out  of  doors,  after  paying  her  wages." 

"  I  !  I !  "  cried  Seguin.  Then,  walking  up  and  down  as 
if  spurring  on  the  anger  which  was  rising  within  him,  he 
burst  forth :  u  I've  had  enough,  you  know,  of  all  these  idi- 
otic stories  !  This  house  has  become  a  perfect  hell  upon 
earth  all  through  that  child  !  There  will  soon  be  nothing 
but  fighting  here  from  morning  till  night.  First  of  all  it 
was  pretended  that  the  nurse  whom  I  took  the  trouble  to 


FRUITFULNESS  173 

choose  wasn't  healthy.  Well,  then  a  second  nurse  is  en- 
gaged, and  she  gets  drunk  and  stifles  the  child.  And  now, 
I  suppose,  we  are  to  have  a  third,  some  other  vile  creature 
who  will  prey  on  us  and  drive  us  mad.  No,  no,  it's  too 
exasperating,  I  won't  have  it." 

Valentine,  her  fears  now  calmed,  became  aggressive. 
"  What  won't  you  have  ?  There  is  no  sense  in  what  you 
say.  As  we  have  a  child  we  must  have  a  nurse.  If  I  had 
spoken  of  nursing  the  little  one  myself  you  would  have  told 
me  I  was  a  fool.  You  would  have  found  the  house  more 
uninhabitable  than  ever,  if  you  had  seen  me  with  the  child 
always  in  my  arms.  But  I  won't  nurse  —  I  can't.  As 
you  say,  we  will  take  a  third  nurse ;  it's  simple  enough,  and 
we'll  do  so  at  once  and  risk  it." 

Seguin  had  abruptly  halted  in  front  of  Andree,  who, 
alarmed  by  the  sight  of  his  stern  dark  figure  began  to  cry. 
Blinded  as  he  was  by  anger,  he  perhaps  failed  to  see  her, 
even  as  he  failed  to  see  Gaston  and  Lucie,  who  had  has- 
tened in  at  the  noise  of  the  dispute  and  stood  near  the  door, 
full  of  curiosity  and  fear.  As  nobody  thought  of  sending 
them  away  they  remained  there,  and  saw  and  heard  every- 
thing. 

"  The  carriage  is  waiting,"  resumed  Seguin,  in  a  voice 
which  he  strove  to  render  calm.  "  Let  us  make  haste,  let 
us  go." 

Valentine  looked  at  him  in  stupefaction.  "  Come,  be 
reasonable,"  said  she.  "  How  can  I  leave  this  child  when 
I  have  nobody  to  whom  I  can  trust  her  ?  " 

"  The  carriage  is  waiting  for  us,"  he  repeated,  quivering ; 
"  let  us  go  at  once." 

And  as  his  wife  this  time  contented  herself  with  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders,  he  was  seized  with  one  of  those  sudden 
fits  of  madness  which  impelled  him  to  the  greatest  violence, 
even  when  people  were  present,  and  made  him  openly  dis- 
play his  rankling  poisonous  sore,  that  absurd  jealousy  which 
had  upset  his  life.  As  for  that  poor  little  puny,  wailing 
child,  he  would  have  crushed  her,  for  he  held  her  to  be 
guilty  of  everything,  and  indeed  it  was  she  who  was  now 


i74  FRUITFULNESS 

the  obstacle  to  that  excursion  he  had  planned,  that  pleasure 
trip  which  he  had  promised  himself,  and  which  now  seemed 
to  him  of  such  supreme  importance.  And  'twas  so  much 
the  better  if  friends  were  there  to  hear  him.  So  in  the 
vilest  language  he  began  to  upbraid  his  wife,  not  only 
reproaching  her  for  the  birth  of  that  child,  but  even  deny- 
ing that  the  child  was  his.  "  You  will  only  be  content 
when  you  have  driven  me  from  the  house ! "  he  finished 
in  a  fury.  "  You  won't  come  ?  Well  then,  I'll  go  by 
myself!" 

And  thereupon  he  rushed  off  like  a  whirlwind,  without 
a  word  to  Santerre,  who  had  remained  silent,  and  without 
even  remembering  that  Mathieu  still  stood  there  awaiting 
an  answer.  The  latter,  in  consternation  at  hearing  all  these 
things,  had  not  dared  to  withdraw  lest  by  doing  so  he  should 
seem  to  be  passing  judgment  on  the  scene.  Standing  there 
motionless,  he  turned  his  head  aside,  looked  at  little  Andree 
who  was  still  crying,  and  at  Gaston  and  Lucie,  who,  silent 
with  fright,  pressed  one  against  the  other  behind  the  arm- 
chair in  which  their  sister  was  wailing. 

Valentine  had  sunk  upon  a  chair,  stifling  with  sobs,  her 
limbs  trembling.  "  The  wretch  !  Ah,  how  he  treats  me  ! 
To  accuse  me  thus,  when  he  knows  how  false  it  is  !  Ah  ! 
never  more ;  no,  never  more  !  I  would  rather  kill  myself; 
yes,  kill  myself!  " 

Then  Santerre,  who  had  hitherto  stood  on  one  side, 
gently  drew  near  to  her  and  ventured  to  take  her  hand 
with  a  gesture  of  affectionate  compassion,  while  saying  in 
an  undertone :  "  Come,  calm  yourself.  You  know  very 
well  that  you  are  not  alone,  that  you  are  not  forsaken. 
There  are  some  things  which  cannot  touch  you.  Calm 
yourself,  cease  weeping,  I  beg  you.  You  distress  me 
dreadfully." 

He  made  himself  the  more  gentle  since  the  husband  had 
been  the  more  brutal ;  and  he  leant  over  her  yet  the  more 
closely,  and  again  lowered  his  voice  till  it  became  but  a 
murmur.  Only  a  few  words  could  be  heard  :  "  It  is  wrong 
of  you  to  worry  yourself  like  this.  Forget  all  that  folly. 


FRUITFULNESS  175 

I  told  you  before  that  he  doesn't  know  how  to  behave 
towards  a  woman." 

Twice  was  that  last  remark  repeated  with  a  sort  of 
mocking  pity ;  and  she  smiled  vaguely  amid  her  drying 
tears,  in  her  turn  murmuring :  "  You  are  kind,  you  are. 
Thank  you.  And  you  are  quite  right.  .  .  .  Ah  !  if  I  could 
only  be  a  little  happy  !  " 

Then  Mathieu  distinctly  saw  her  press  Santerre's  hand 
as  if  in  acceptance  of  his  consolation.  It  was  the  logical, 
fatal  outcome  of  the  situation — given  a  wife  whom  her 
husband  had  perverted,  a  mother  who  refused  to  nurse  her 
babe.  And  yet  a  cry  from  Andree  suddenly  set  Valentine 
erect,  awaking  to  the  reality  of  her  position.  If  that  poor 
creature  were  so  puny,  dying  for  lack  of  her  mother's  milk, 
the  mother  also  was  in  danger  from  her  refusal  to  nurse 
her  and  clasp  her  to  her  breast  like  a  buckler  of  invincible 
defence.  Life  and  salvation  one  through  the  other,  or 
disaster  for  both,  such  was  the  law*  And  doubtless  Valen- 
tine became  clearly  conscious  of  her  peril,  for  she  hastened 
to  take  up  the  child  and  cover  her  with  caresses,  as  if  to 
make  of  her  a  protecting  rampart  against  the  supreme 
madness  to  which  she  had  felt  prompted.  And  great  was 
the  distress  that  came  over  her.  Her  other  children  were 
there,  looking  and  listening,  and  Mathieu  also  was  still 
waiting.  When  she  perceived  him  her  tears  gushed  forth 
again,  and  she  strove  to  explain  things,  and  even  attempted 
to  defend  her  husband. 

"  Excuse  him,  there  are  moments  when  he  quite  loses 
his  head.  Man  Dieu  !  What  will  become  of  me  with  this 
child  ?  Yet  I  can't  nurse  her  now,  it  is  too  late.  It  is 
frightful  to  be  in  such  a  position  without  knowing  what  to 
do.  Ah  !  what  will  become  of  me,  good  Lord  ?  " 

Santerre  again  attempted  to  console  her,  but  she  no  longer 
listened  to  him,  and  he  was  about  to  defer  all  further  efforts 
till  another  time  when  unexpected  intervention  helped  on 
his  designs. 

Celeste,  who  had  entered  noiselessly,  stood  there  waiting 
for  her  mistress  to  allow  her  to  speak.  "  It  is  my  friend 


176  FRUITFULNESS 

who  has  come  to  see  me,  madame,"  said  she ;  "  you  know, 
the  person  from  my  village,  Sophie  Couteau,  and  as  she 
happens  to  have  a  nurse  with  her  —  " 

"  There  is  a  nurse  here  ?  " 

"  Oh !  yes,  madame,  a  very  fine  one,  an  excellent  one." 

Then,  on  perceiving  her  mistress's  radiant  surprise,  her 
joy  at  this  relief,  she  showed  herself  zealous :  "  Madame 
must  not  tire  herself  by  holding  the  little  one.  Madame 
hasn't  the  habit.  If  madame  will  allow  me,  I  will  bring 
the  nurse  to  her." 

Heaving  a  sigh  of  happy  deliverance,  Valentine  had 
allowed  the  servant  to  take  the  child  from  her.  So  Heaven 
had  not  abandoned  her !  However,  she  began  to  discuss 
the  matter,  and  was  not  inclined  to  have  the  nurse  brought 
there.  She  somehow  feared  that  if  the  other  one,  who  was 
drunk  in  her  room,  should  come  out  and  meet  the  new 
arrival,  she  would  set  about  beating  them  all  and  breaking 
everything.  At  last  she  insisted  on  taking  Santerre  and 
Mathieu  into  the  linen-room,  saying  that  the  latter  must 
certainly  have  some  knowledge  of  these  matters,  although 
he  declared  the  contrary.  Only  Gaston  and  Lucie  were 
formally  forbidden  to  follow. 

"  You  are  not  wanted,"  said  their  mother,  "  so  stay  here 
and  play.  But  we  others  will  all  go,  and  as  softly  as  pos- 
sible, please,  so  that  that  drunken  creature  may  not  suspect 
anything." 

Once  in  the  linen-room,  Valentine  ordered  all  the  doors 
to  be  carefully  secured.  La  Couteau  was  standing  there 
with  a  sturdy  young  person  of  five-and-twenty,  who  carried 
a  superb-looking  infant  in  her  arms.  She  had  dark  hair,  a 
low  forehead,  and  a  broad  face,  and  was  very  respectably 
dressed.  And  she  made  a  little  courtesy  like  a  well-trained 
nurse,  who  has  already  served  with  gentlefolks  and  knows 
how  to  behave.  But  Valentine's  embarrassment  remained 
extreme ;  she  looked  at  the  nurse  and  at  the  babe  like  an 
ignorant  woman  who,  though  her  elder  children  had  been 
brought  up  in  a  room  adjoining  her  own,  had  never  troubled 
or  concerned  herself  about  anything.  In  her  despair,  seeing 


FRUITFULNESS  177 

that  Santerre  kept  to  himself,  she  again  appealed  to  Mathieu, 
who  once  more  excused  himself.  .And  it  was  only  then 
that  La  Couteau,  after  glancing  askance  at  the  gentleman 
who,  somehow  or  other,  always  turned  up  whenever  she 
had  business  to  transact,  ventured  to  intervene : 

"  Will  madame  rely  on  me  ?  If  madame  will  kindly 
remember,  I  once  before  ventured  to  offer  her  my  services, 
and  if  she  had  accepted  them  she  would  have  saved  herself 
no  end  of  worry.  That  Marie  Lebleu  is  impossible,  and  I 
certainly  could  have  warned  madame  of  it  at  the  time  when 
I  came  to  fetch  Marie's  child.  But  since  madame's  doctor 
had  chosen  her,  it  was  not  for  me  to  speak.  Oh !  she  has 
good  milk,  that's  quite  sure ;  only  she  also  has  a  good 
tongue,  which  is  always  dry.  So  if  madame  will  now  place 
confidence  in  me  —  " 

Then  she  rattled  on  interminably,  expatiating  on  the 
respectability  of  her  calling,  and  praising  the  value  of  the 
goods  she  offered. 

"  Well,  madame,  I  tell  you  that  you  can  take  La  Catiche 
with  your  eyes  shut.  She's  exactly  what  you  want,  there's 
no  better  in  Paris.  Just  look  how  she's  built,  how  sturdy 
and  how  healthy  she  is  !  And  her  child,  just  look  at  it ! 
She's  married,  she  even  has  a  little  girl  of  four  at  the  village 
with  her  husband.  She's  a  respectable  woman,  which  is 
more  than  can  be  said  for  a  good  many  nurses.  In  a  word, 
madame,  I  know  her  and  can  answer  for  her.  If  you  are 
not  pleased  with  her  I  myself  will  give  you  your  money 
back." 

In  her  haste  to  get  it  all  over  Valentine  made  a  great 
gesture  of  surrender.  She  even  consented  to  pay  one 
hundred  francs  a  month,  since  La  Catiche  was  a  married 
woman.  Moreover,  La  Couteau  explained  that  she  would 
not  have  to  pay  the  office  charges,  which  would  mean  a 
saving  of  forty-five  francs,  though,  perhaps,  madame  would 
not  forget  all  the  trouble  which  she,  La  Couteau,  had  taken. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  would,  of  course,  be  the  expense 
of  taking  La  Catiche's  child  back  to  the  village,  a  matter 
of  thirty  francs.  Valentine  liberally  promised  to  double 


178  FRUITFULNESS 

that  sum;  and  all  seemed  to  be  settled,  and  she  felt  delivered, 
when  she  suddenly  bethought  herself  of  the  other  nurse,  who 
had  barricaded  herself  in  her  room.  How  could  they  get 
her  out  in  order  to  install  La  Catiche  in  her  place  ? 

41  What !  "  exclaimed  La  Couteau,  "  does  Marie  Lebleu 
frighten  you  ?  She  had  better  not  give  me  any  of  her  non- 
sense if  she  wants  me  ever  to  find  her  another  situation. 
I'll  speak  to  her,  never  fear." 

Celeste  thereupon  placed  Andree  on  a  blanket,  which 
was  lying  there,  side  by  side  with  the  infant  of  which  the 
new  nurse  had  rid  herself  a  moment  previously,  and  under- 
took to  conduct  La  Couteau  to  Marie  Lebleu's  room. 
Deathlike  silence  now  reigned  there,  but  the  nurse-agent 
only  had  to  give  her  name  to  secure  admittance.  She 
went  in,  and  for  a  few  moments  one  only  heard  her  dry 
curt  voice.  Then,  on  coming  out,  she  tranquillized  Valen- 
tine, who  had  gone  to  listen,  trembling. 

"  I've  sobered  her,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  she.  "  Pay  her 
her  month's  wages.  She's  packing  her  box  and  going  off." 

Then,  as  they  went  back  into  the  linen-room,  Valentine 
settled  pecuniary  matters  and  added  five  francs  for  this  new 
service.  But  a  final  difficulty  arose.  La  Couteau  could 
not  come  back  to  fetch  La  Catiche's  child  in  the  evening, 
and  what  was  she  to  do  with  it  during  the  rest  of  the  day  ? 
"Well,  no  matter,"  she  said  at  last, "  I'll  take  it ;  I'll  deposit 
it  at  the  office,  before  I  go  my  round.  They'll  give  it  a 
bottle  there,  and  it'll  have  to  grow  accustomed  to  the  bottle 
now,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  the  mother  quietly  replied. 

Then,  as  La  Couteau,  on  the  point  of  leaving,  after  all 
sorts  of  bows  and  thanks,  turned  round  to  take  the  little  one, 
she  made  a  gesture  of  hesitation  on  seeing  the  two  children 
lying  side  by  side  on  the  blanket. 

"  The  devil ! "  she  murmured  ;  "  I  mustn't  make  a 
mistake." 

This  seemed  amusing,  and  enlivened  the  others.  Celeste 
fairly  exploded,  and  even  La  Catiche  grinned  broadly ; 
while  La  Couteau  caught  up  the  child  with  her  long  claw- 


FRUITFULNESS  179 

like  hands  and  carried  it  away.  Yet  another  gone,  to  be 
carted  away  yonder  in  one  of  those  ever-recurring  razzias 
which  consigned  the  little  babes  to  massacre ! 

Mathieu  alone  had  not  laughed.  He  had  suddenly 
recalled  his  conversation  with  Boutan  respecting  the 
demoralizing  effects  of  that  nurse  trade,  the  shameful  bar- 
gaining, the  common  crime  of  two  mothers,  who  each 
risked  the  death  of  her  child  —  the  idle  mother  who  bought 
another's  services,  the  venal  mother  who  sold  her  milk. 
He  felt  cold  at  heart  as  he  saw  one  child  carried  off  still 
full  of  life,  and  the  other  remain  there  already  so  puny. 
And  what  would  be  fate's  course  ?  Would  not  one  or  the 
other,  perhaps  both  of  them  be  sacrificed  ? 

Valentine,  however,  was  already  leading  both  him  and 
Santerre  to  the  spacious  salon  again ;  and  she  was  so 
delighted,  so  fully  relieved,  that  she  had  recovered  all  her 
cavalier  carelessness,  her  passion  for  noise  and  pleasure. 
And  as  Mathieu  was  about  to  take  his  leave,  he  heard  the 
triumphant  Santerre  saying  to  her,  while  for  a  moment  he 
retained  her  hand  in  his  clasp  :  "  Till  to-morrow,  then." 
And  she,  who  had  cast  her  buckler  of  defence  aside,  made 
answer  :  "  Yes  —  yes,  to-morrow." 

A  week  later  La  Catiche  was  the  acknowledged  queen 
of  the  house.  Andree  had  recovered  a  little  color,  and  was 
increasing  in  weight  daily.  And  in  presence  of  this  result 
the  others  bowed  low  indeed.  There  was  every  disposition 
to  overlook  all  possible  faults  on  the  nurse's  part.  She  was 
the  third,  and  a  fourth  would  mean  the  child's  death ;  so 
that  she  was  an  indispensable,  a  providential  helper,  one 
whose  services  must  be  retained  at  all  costs.  Moreover,  she 
seemed  to  have  no  defects,  for  she  was  a  calm,  cunning, 
peasant  woman,  one  who  knew  how  to  rule  her  employers 
and  extract  from  them  all  that  was  to  be  extracted.  Her 
conquest  of  the  Seguins  was  effected  with  extraordinary  skill. 
At  first  some  unpleasantness  seemed  likely,  because  Celeste 
was,  on  her  own  side,  pursuing  a  similar  course ;  but  they 
were  both  too  intelligent  to  do  otherwise  than  come  to  an 
understanding.  As  their  departments  were  distinct,  they 


i8o  FRUITFULNESS 

agreed  that  they  could  prosecute  parallel  invasions.  And 
from  that  moment  they  even  helped  one  another,  divided 
the  empire,  and  preyed  upon  the  house  in  company. 

La  Catiche  sat  upon  a  throne,  served  by  the  other 
domestics,  with  her  employers  at  her  feet.  The  finest  dishes 
were  for  her ;  she  had  her  special  wine,  her  special  bread, 
she  had  everything  most  delicate  and  most  nourishing  that 
could  be  found.  Gluttonous,  slothful,  and  proud,  she 
strutted  about,  bending  one  and  all  to  her  fancies.  The 
others  gave  way  to  her  in  everything  to  avoid  sending  her 
into  a  temper  which  might  have  spoilt  her  milk.  At  her 
slightest  indisposition  everybody  was  distracted.  One  night 
she  had  an  attack  of  indigestion,  and  all  the  doctors  in  the 
neighborhood  were  rung  up  to  attend  on  her.  Her  only  real 
defect,  perhaps,  was  a  slight  inclination  for  pilfering ;  she 
appropriated  some  linen  that  was  lying  about,  but  madame 
would  not  hear  of  the  matter  being  mentioned. 

There  was  also  the  chapter  of  the  presents  which  were 
heaped  on  her  in  order  to  keep  her  in  good  temper.  Apart 
from  the  regulation  present  when  the  child  cut  its  first  tooth, 
advantage  was  taken  of  various  other  occasions,  and  a  ring, 
a  brooch,  and  a  pair  of  earrings  were  given  her.  Naturally 
she  was  the  most  adorned  nurse  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  with 
superb  cloaks  and  the  richest  of  caps,  trimmed  with  long 
ribbons  which  flared  in  the  sunlight.  Never  did  lady  lead 
a  life  of  more  sumptuous  idleness.  There  were  also  the 
presents  which  she  extracted  for  her  husband  and  her  little 
girl  at  the  village.  Parcels  were  sent  them  by  express 
train  every  week.  And  on  the  morning  when  news  came 
that  her  own  baby,  carried  back  by  La  Couteau,  had  died 
from  the  effects  of  a  bad  cold,  she  was  presented  with  fifty 
francs  as  if  in  payment  for  the  loss  of  her  child.  Little 
Andree,  meanwhile,  grew  ever  stronger,  and  thus  La  Catiche 
rose  higher  and  higher,  with  the  whole  house  bending  low 
beneath  her  tyrannical  sway. 

On  the  day  when  Mathieu  called  to  sign  the  deed  which 
was  to  insure  him  the  possession  of  the  little  pavilion  of 
Chantebled  with  some  fifty  acres  around  it,  and  the  privi- 


FRUITFULNESS  181 

lege  of  acquiring  other  parts  of  the  estate  on  certain  condi- 
tions, he  found  Seguin  on  the  point  of  starting  for  Le  Havre, 
where  a  friend,  a  wealthy  Englishman,  was  waiting  for  him 
with  his  yacht,  in  order  that  they  might  have  a  month's 
trip  round  the  coast  of  Spain. 

"  Yes,"  said  Seguin  feverishly,  alluding  to  some  recent 
heavy  losses  at  the  gaming  table,  "I'm  leaving  Paris  for  a 
time  —  I  have  no  luck  here  just  now.  But  I  wish  you 
plenty  of  courage  and  all  success,  my  dear  sir.  You  know 
how  much  I  am  interested  in  the  attempt  you  are  about  to 
make." 

A  little  later  that  same  day  Mathieu  was  crossing  the 
Champs-Elysees,  eager  to  join  Marianne  at  Chantebled, 
moved  as  he  was  by  the  decisive  step  he  had  taken,  yet 
quivering  also  with  faith  and  hope,  when  in  a  deserted 
avenue  he  espied  a  cab  waiting,  and  recognized  Santerre 
inside  it.  Then,  as  a  veiled  lady  furtively  sprang  into 
the  vehicle,  he  turned  round  wondering :  Was  that  not 
Valentine  ?  And  as  the  cab  drove  off  he  felt  convinced  it 
was. 

There  came  other  meetings  when  he  reached  the  main 
avenue  j  first  Gaston  and  Lucie,  already  tired  of  play,  and 
dragging  about  their  puny  limbs  under  the  careless  super- 
vision of  Celeste,  who  was  busy  laughing  with  a  grocer's 
man ;  while  farther  off  La  Caliche,  superb  and  royal, 
decked  out  like  the  idol  of  venal  motherhood,  was  giving 
little  Andree  an  outing,  with  her  long  purple  ribbons 
streaming  victoriously  in  the  sunshine. 


XI 

ON  the  day  when  the  first  blow  with  the  pick  was  dealt, 
Marianne,  with  Gervais  in  her  arms,  came  and  sat  down 
close  by,  full  of  happy  emotion  at  this  work  of  faith  and 
hope  which  Mathieu  was  so  boldly  undertaking.  It  was  a 
clear,  warm  day  in  the  middle  of  June,  with  a  pure,  broad 
sky  that  encouraged  confidence.  And  as  the  children  had 
been  given  a  holiday,  they  played  about  in  the  surrounding 
grass,  and  one  could  hear  the  shrill  cries  of  little  Rose  while 
she  amused  herself  with  running  after  the  three  boys. 

"  Will  you  deal  the  first  blow  ? "  Mathieu  gayly  asked 
his  wife. 

But  she  pointed  to  her  baby.  "  No,  no,  I  have  my  work. 
Deal  it  yourself,  you  are  the  father." 

He  stood  there  with  two  men  under  his  orders,  but  ready 
himself  to  undertake  part  of  the  hard  manual  toil  in  order 
to  help  on  the  realization  of  his  long  thought  of,  ripening 
scheme.  With  great  prudence  and  wisdom  he  had  assured 
himself  a  modest  livelihood  for  a  year  of  effort,  by  an  intelli- 
gent scheme  of  association  and  advances  repayable  out  of 
profits,  which  would  enable  him  to  wait  for  his  first  harvest. 
And  it  was  his  life  that  he  risked  on  that  future  crop,  should 
the  earth  refuse  his  worship  and  his  labor.  But  he  was  a 
faithful  believer,  one  who  felt  certain  of  conquering,  since 
love  and  determination  were  his. 

"  Well  then,  here  goes  !  "  he  gallantly  cried.  "  May 
the  earth  prove  a  good  mother  to  us  !  " 

Then  he  dealt  the  first  blow  with  his  pick. 

The  work  was  begun  to  the  left  of  the  old  pavilion,  in 
a  corner  of  that  extensive  marshy  tableland,  where  little 
streams  coursed  on  all  sides  through  the  reeds  which  sprang 

182 


FRUITFULNESS  183 

up  everywhere.  It  was  at  first,  simply  a  question  of  drain- 
ing a  few  acres  by  capturing  these  streams  and  turning  them 
into  canals,  in  order  to  direct  them  afterwards  over  the  dry 
sandy  slopes  which  descended  towards  the  railway  line. 
After  an  attentive  examination  Mathieu  had  discovered  that 
the  work  might  easily  be  executed,  and  that  water-furrows 
would  suffice,  such  was  the  disposition  and  nature  of  the 
ground.  This,  indeed,  was  his  real  discovery,  not  to  men- 
tion the  layer  of  humus  which  he  felt  certain  would  be 
found  amassed  on  the  plateau,  and  the  wondrous  fertility 
which  it  would  display  as  soon  as  a  ploughshare  had  passed 
through  it.  And  so  with  his  pick  he  now  began  to  open 
the  trench  which  was  to  drain  the  damp  soil  above,  and 
fertilize  the  dry,  sterile,  thirsty  ground  below. 

The  open  air,  however,  had  doubtless  given  Gervais  an 
appetite,  for  he  began  to  cry.  He  was  now  a  strong  little 
fellow,  three  months  and  a  half  old,  and  never  neglected 
mealtime.  He  was  growing  like  one  of  the  young  trees  in 
the  neighboring  wood,  with  hands  which  did  not  easily  re- 
lease what  they  grasped,  with  eyes  too  full  of  light,  now  all 
laughter  and  now  all  tears,  and  with  the  ever  open  beak  of 
a  greedy  bird,  that  raised  a  tempest  whenever  his  mother 
kept  him  waiting. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  you  are  there,"  said  she ;  "  come, 
don't  deafen  us  any  longer." 

Then  she  gave  him  the  breast  and  he  became  quiet, 
simply  purring  like  a  happy  little  kitten.  The  beneficent 
source  had  begun  to  flow  once  more,  as  if  it  were  inex- 
haustible. The  trickling  milk  murmured  unceasingly.  One 
might  have  said  that  it  could  be  heard  descending  and 
spreading,  while  Mathieu  on  his  side  continued  opening  his 
trench,  assisted  by  the  two  men  whose  apprenticeship  was 
long  since  past. 

He  rose  up  at  last,  wiped  his  brow,  and  with  his  air  of 
quiet  certainty  exclaimed  :  "  It's  only  a  trade  to  learn.  In 
a  few  months'  time  I  shall  be  nothing  but  a  peasant.  Look 
at  that  stagnant  pond  there,  green  with  water-plants.  The 
spring  which  feeds  it  is  yonder  in  that  big  tuft  of  herbage. 


1 84  FRUITFULNESS 

And  when  this  trench  has  been  opened  to  the  edge  of  the 
slope,  you  will  see  the  pond  dry  up,  and  the  spring  gush 
forth  and  take  its  course,  carrying  the  beneficent  water 
away." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Marianne,  "  may  it  fertilize  all  that  stony 
expanse,  for  nothing  can  be  sadder  than  dead  land.  How 
happy  it  will  be  to  quench  its  thirst  and  live  again  !  " 

Then  she  broke  off  to  scold  Gervais  :  "  Come,  young 
gentleman,  don't  pull  so  hard,"  said  she.  "  Wait  till  it 
comes ;  you  know  very  well  that  it's  all  for  you." 

Meantime  the  blows  of  the  pickaxes  rang  out,  the  trench 
rapidly  made  its  way  through  the  fat,  moist  soil,  and  soon 
the  water  would  flow  into  the  parched  veins  of  .the  neigh- 
boring sandy  tracts  to  endow  them  with  fruitfulness.  And 
the  light  trickling  of  the  mother's  milk  also  continued  with 
the  faint  murmur  of  an  inexhaustible  source,  flowing  from 
her  breast  into  the  mouth  of  her  babe,  like  a  fountain  of 
eternal  life.  It  ever  and  ever  flowed,  it  created  flesh,  intelli- 
gence, and  labor,  and  strength.  And  soon  its  whispering 
would  mingle  with  the  babble  of  the  delivered  spring  as  it 
descended  along  the  trenches  to  the  dry  hot  lands.  And  at 
last  there  would  be  but  one  and  the  same  stream,  one  and  the 
same  river,  gradually  overflowing  and  carrying  life  to  all 
the  earth,  a  mighty  river  of  nourishing  milk  flowing  through 
the  world's  veins,  creating  without  a  pause,  and  producing 
yet  more  youth  and  more  health  at  each  return  of  spring- 
tide. 

Four  months  later,  when  Mathieu  and  his  men  had  fin- 
ished the  autumn  ploughing,  there  came  the  sowing  on  the 
same  spot.  Marianne  was  there  again,  and  it  was  such  a 
very  mild  gray  day  that  she  was  still  able  to  sit  down,  and 
once  more  gayly  give  the  breast  to  little  Gervais.  He  was 
already  eight  months  old  and  had  become  quite  a  personage. 
He  grew  a  little  more  every  day,  always  in  his  mother's 
arms,  on  that  warm  breast  whence  he  sucked  life.  He  was 
like  the  seed  which  clings  to  the  seed-pod  so  long  as  it  is 
not  ripe.  And  at  that  first  quiver  of  November,  that  ap- 
proach of  winter  through  which  the  germs  would  slumber 


FRUITFULNESS  185 

in  the  furrows,  he  pressed  his  chilly  little  face  close  to  his 
mother's  warm  bosom,  and  nursed  on  in  silence  as  if  the 
river  of  life  were  lost,  buried  deep  beneath  the  soil. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Marianne,  laughing,  "  you  are  not  warm, 
young  gentleman,  are  you  ?  It  is  time  for  you  to  take  up 
your  winter  quarters." 

Just  then  Mathieu,  with  his  sower's  bag  at  his  waist, 
was  returning  towards  them,  scattering  the  seed  with  broad 
rhythmical  gestures.  He  had  heard  his  wife,  and  he  paused 
to  say  to  her  :  "  Let  him  nurse  and  sleep  till  the  sun  comes 
back.  He  will  be  a  man  by  harvest  time."  And,  pointing 
to  the  great  field  which  he  was  sowing  with  his  assistants, 
he  added  :  "  All  this  will  grow  and  ripen  when  our  Gervais 
has  begun  to  walk  and  talk — just  look,  see  our  conquest !  " 

He  was  proud  of  it.  From  ten  to  fifteen  acres  of  the 
plateau  were  now  rid  of  the  stagnant  pools,  cleared  and 
levelled ;  and  they  spread  out  in  a  brown  expanse,  rich  with 
humus,  while  the  water-furrows  which  intersected  them 
carried  the  streams  to  the  neighboring  slopes.  Before  culti- 
vating those  dry  lands  one  must  yet  wait  until  the  moisture 
should  have  penetrated  and  fertilized  them.  That  would 
be  the  work  of  the  future,  and  thus,  by  degrees,  life  would 
be  diffused  through  the  whole  estate. 

"  Evening  is  coming  on,"  resumed  Mathieu,  "  I  must 
make  haste." 

Then  he  set  off  again,  throwing  the  seed  with  his  broad 
rhythmical  gesture.  And  while  Marianne,  gravely  smiling, 
watched  him  go,  it  occurred  to  little  Rose  to  follow  in  his 
track,  and  take  up  handfuls  of  earth,  which  she  scattered  to 
the  wind.  The  three  boys  perceived  her,  and  Blaise  and 
Denis  then  hastened  up,  followed  by  Ambroise,  all  gleefully 
imitating  their  father's  gesture,  and  darting  hither  and  thither 
around  him.  And  for  a  moment  it  was  almost  as  if  Mathieu 
with  the  sweep  of  his  arm  not  only  cast  the  seed  of  expected 
corn  into  the  furrows,  but  also  sowed  those  dear  children, 
casting  them  here  and  there  without  cessation,  so  that  a 
whole  nation  of  little  sowers  should  spring  up  and  finish 
populating  the  world. 


i86  FRUITFULNESS 

Two  months  more  went  by,  and  January  had  arrived  with 
a  hard  frost,  when  one  day  the  Froments  unexpectedly  re- 
ceived a  visit  from  Seguin  and  Beauchene,  who  had  come 
to  try  their  luck  at  wild-duck  shooting,  among  such  of  the 
ponds  on  the  plateau  as  had  not  yet  been  drained.  It  was 
a  Sunday,  and  the  whole  family  was  gathered  in  the  roomy 
kitchen,  cheered  by  a  big  fire.  Through  the  clear  windows 
one  could  see  the  far-spreading  countryside,  white  with  rime, 
and  stiffly  slumbering  under  that  crystal  casing,  like  some 
venerated  saint  awaiting  April's  resurrection.  And,  that 
day,  when  the  visitors  presented  themselves,  Gervais  also 
was  slumbering  in  his  white  cradle,  rendered  somnolent  by 
the  season,  but  plump  even  as  larks  are  in  the  cold  weather, 
and  waiting,  he  also,  simply  for  life's  revival,  in  order  to 
reappear  in  all  the  triumph  of  his  acquired  strength. 

The  family  had  gayly  partaken  of  dejeuner^  and  now, 
before  nightfall,  the  four  children  had  gathered  round  a 
table  by  the  window,  absorbed  in  a  playful  occupation 
which  delighted  them.  Helped  by  Ambroise,  the  twins, 
Blaise  and  Denis,  were  building  a  whole  village  out  of 
pieces  of  cardboard,  fixed  together  with  paste.  There  were 
houses,  a  town  hall,  a  church,  a  school.  And  Rose,  who 
had  been  forbidden  to  touch  the  scissors,  presided  over  the 
paste,  with  which  she  smeared  herself  even  to  her  hair.  In 
the  deep  quietude,  through  which  their  laughter  rang  at 
intervals,  their  father  and  mother  had  remained  seated  side 
by  side  in  front  of  the  blazing  fire,  enjoying  that  delightful 
Sunday  peace  after  the  week's  hard  work. 

They  lived  there  very  simply,  like  genuine  peasants, 
without  any  luxury,  any  amusement,  save  that  of  being 
together.  Their  gay,  bright  kitchen  was  redolent  of  that 
easy  primitive  life,  lived  so  near  the  earth,  which  frees  one 
from  fictitious  wants,  ambition,  and  the  longing  for  pleas- 
ure. And  no  fortune,  no  power  could  have  brought  such 
quiet  delight  as  that  afternoon  of  happy  intimacy,  while 
the  last-born  slept  so  soundly  and  quietly  that  one  could 
not  even  hear  him  breathe. 

Beauchene    and    Seguin    broke  in   upon    the   quiet  like 


FRUITFULNESS  187 

unlucky  sportsmen,  with  their  limbs  weary  and  their  faces 
and  hands  icy  cold.  Amid  the  exclamations  of  surprise 
which  greeted  them,  they  complained  of  the  folly  that  had 
possessed  them  to  venture  out  of  Paris  in  such  bleak 
weather. 

"  Just  fancy,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Beauchene,  "  we 
haven't  seen  a  single  duck  !  It's  no  doubt  too  cold.  And 
you  can't  imagine  what  a  bitter  wind  blows  on  the  plateau, 
amid  those  ponds  and  bushes  bristling  with  icicles.  So 
we  gave  up  the  idea  of  any  shooting.  You  must  give  us 
each  a  glass  of  hot  wine,  and  then  we'll  get  back  to  Paris." 

Seguin,  who  was  in  even  a  worse  humor,  stood  before 
the  fire  trying  to  thaw  himself;  and  while  Marianne  made 
haste  to  warm  some  wine,  he  began  to  speak  of  the  cleared 
fields  which  he  had  skirted.  Under  the  icy  covering,  how- 
ever, beneath  which  they  stiffly  slumbered,  hiding  the  seed 
within  them,  he  had  guessed  nothing  of  the  truth,  and 
already  felt  anxious  about  this  business  of  Mathieu's,  which 
looked  anything  but  encouraging.  Indeed,  he  already  feared 
that  he  would  not  be  paid  his  purchase  money,  and  so  made 
bold  to  speak  ironically. 

"  I  say,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am  afraid  you  have  lost  your 
time,"  he  began ;  "  I  noticed  it  all  as  I  went  by,  and  it  did 
not  seem  promising.  But  how  can  you  hope  to  reap  any- 
thing from  rotten  soil  in  which  only  reeds  have  been  grow- 
ing for  centuries  ?  " 

"  One  must  wait,"  Mathieu  quietly  answered.  "  You 
must  come  back  and  see  it  all  next  June." 

But  Beauchene  interrupted  them.  "  There  is  a  train  at 
four  o'clock,  I  think,"  said  he ;  "  let  us  make  haste,  for  it 
would  annoy  us  tremendously  to  miss  it,  would  it  not, 
Seguin  ? " 

So  saying,  he  gave  him  a  gay,  meaning  glance.  They 
had  doubtless  planned  some  little  spree  together,  like  hus- 
bands bent  on  availing  themselves  to  the  utmost  of  the 
convenient  pretext  of  a  day's  shooting.  Then,  having 
drunk  some  wine  and  feeling  warmed  and  livelier,  they 
began  to  express  astonishment  at  their  surroundings. 


i88  FRUITFULNESS 

"  It  stupefies  me,  my  dear  fellow,"  declared  Beauchene, 
"  that  you  can  live  in  this  awful  solitude  in  the  depth  of 
winter.  It  is  enough  to  kill  anybody.  I  am  all  in  favor 
of  work,  you  know ;  but,  dash  it !  one  must  have  some 
amusement  too." 

"  But  we  do  amuse  ourselves,"  said  Mathieu,  waving  his 
hand  round  that  rustic  kitchen  in  which  centred  all  their 
pleasant  family  life. 

The  two  visitors  followed  his  gesture,  and  gazed  in 
amazement  at  the  walls  covered  with  utensils,  at  the  rough 
furniture,  and  at  the  table  on  which  the  children  were  still 
building  their  village  after  offering  their  cheeks  to  be  kissed. 
No  doubt  they  were  unable  to  understand  what  pleasure 
there  could  possibly  be  there,  for,  suppressing  a  jeering 
laugh,  they  shook  their  heads.  To  them  it  was  really  an 
extraordinary  life,  a  life  of  most  singular  taste. 

"  Come  and  see  my  little  Gervais,"  said  Marianne 
softly.  "  He  is  asleep ;  mind,  you  must  not  wake 
him." 

For  politeness'  sake  they  both  bent  over  the  cradle,  and 
expressed  surprise  at  finding  a  child  but  ten  months  old  so 
big.  He  was  very  good,  too.  Only,  as  soon  as  he  should 
wake,  he  would  no  doubt  deafen  everybody.  And  then, 
too,  if  a  fine  child  like  that  sufficed  to  make  life  happy, 
how  many  people  must  be  guilty  of  spoiling  their  lives  ! 
The  visitors  came  back  to  the  fireside,  anxious  only  to  be 
gone  now  that  they  felt  enlivened. 

"  So  it's  understood,"  said  Mathieu,  "  you  won't  stay  to 
dinner  with  us  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  "  they  exclaimed  in  one  breath. 

Then,  to  attenuate  the  discourtesy  of  such  a  cry,  Beau- 
chene began  to  jest,  and  accepted  the  invitation  for  a  later 
date  when  the  warm  weather  should  have  arrived. 

"  On  my  word  of  honor,  we  have  business  in  Paris,"  he 
declared.  "  But  I  promise  you  that  when  it's  fine  we  will 
all  come  and  spend  a  day  here — yes,  with  our  wives  and 
children.  And  you  will  then  show  us  your  work,  and  we 
shall  see  if  you  have  succeeded.  So  good-by  !  All  my 


FRUITFULNESS  189 

good  wishes,  my  dear  fellow !  Au  mWr,  cousin !  Au 
revoir,  children  ;  be  good  !  " 

Then  came  more  kisses  and  hand-shakes,  and  the  two 
men  disappeared.  And  when  the  gentle  silence  had  fallen 
once  more  Mathieu  and  Marianne  again  found  themselves 
in  front  of  the  bright  fire,  while  the  children  completed  the 
building  of  their  village  with  a  great  consumption  of  paste, 
and  Gervais  continued  sleeping  soundly.  Had  they  been 
dreaming  ?  Mathieu  wondered.  What  sudden  blast  from 
all  the  shame  and  suffering  of  Paris  had  blown  into  their 
far-away  quiet  ?  Outside,  the  country  retained  its  icy 
rigidity.  The  fire  alone  sang  the  song  of  hope  in  life's 
future  revival.  And,  all  at  once,  after  a  few  minutes'  rev- 
erie the  young  man  began  to  speak  aloud,  as  if  he  had  at 
last  just  found  the  answer  to  all  sorts  of  grave  questions 
which  he  had  long  since  put  to  himself. 

"  But  those  folks  don't  love  ;  they  are  incapable  of  lov- 
ing !  Money,  power,  ambition,  pleasure — yes,  all  those 
things  may  be  theirs,  but  not  love !  Even  the  husbands 
who  deceive  their  wives  do  not  really  love  their  mistresses. 
They  have  never  glowed  with  the  supreme  desire,  the 
divine  desire  which  is  the  world's  very  soul,  the  brazier 
of  eternal  life.  And  that  explains  everything.  Without 
desire  there  is  no  love,  no  courage,  and  no  hope.  By  love 
alone  can  one  create.  And  if  love  be  restricted  in  its  mis- 
sion there  is  but  failure .  Yes,  they  lie  and  deceive, 

because  they  do  not  love.  Then  they  suffer  and  lapse  into 
moral  and  physical  degradation.  And  at  the  end  lies  the 
collapse  of  our  rotten  society,  which  breaks  up  more  and 
more  each  day  before  our  eyes.  That,  then,  is  the  truth  I 
was  seeking.  It  is  desire  and  love  that  save.  Whoever 
loves  and  creates  is  the  revolutionary  saviour,  the  maker 
of  men  for  the  new  world  which  will  shortly  dawn." 

Never  before  had  Mathieu  so  plainly  understood  that  he 
and  his  wife  were  different  from  others.  This  now  struck 
him  with  extraordinary  force.  Comparisons  ensued,  and 
he  realized  that  their  simple  life,  free  from  the  lust  of 
wealth,  their  contempt  for  luxury  and  worldly  vanities,  all 


I9o  FRUITFULNESS 

their  common  participation  in  toil  which  made  them  accept 
and  glorify  life  and  its  duties,  all  that  mode  of  existence  of 
theirs  which  was  at  once  their  joy  and  their  strength,  sprang 
solely  from  the  source  of  eternal  energy  :  the  love  with 
which  they  glowed.  If,  later  on,  victory  should  remain 
with  them,  if  they  should  some  day  leave  behind  them 
work  of  value  and  health  and  happiness,  it  would  be  solely 
because  they  had  possessed  the  power  of  love  and  the  cour- 
age to  love  freely,  harvesting,  in  an  ever-increasing  family, 
both  the  means  of  support  and  the  means  of  conquest.  And 
this  sudden  conviction  filled  Mathieu  with  such  a  glow 
that  he  leant  towards  his  wife,  who  sat  there  deeply  moved 
by  what  he  said,  and  kissed  her  ardently  upon  the  lips.  It 
was  divine  love  passing  like  a  flaming  blast.  But  she, 
though  her  own  eyes  were  sparkling,  laughingly  scolded 
him,  saying :  "  Hush,  hush,  you  will  wake  Gervais." 

Then  they  remained  there  hand  in  hand,  pressing  each 
other's  ringers  amid  the  silence.  Evening  was  coming 
on,  and  at  last  the  children,  their  village  finished,  raised 
cries  of  rapture  at  seeing  it  standing  there  among  bits  of 
wood,  which  figured  trees.  And  then  the  softened  glances 
of  the  parents  strayed  now  through  the  window  towards 
the  crops  sleeping  beneath  the  crystalline  rime,  and  now 
towards  their  last-born's  cradle,  where  hope  was  likewise 
slumbering. 

Again  did  two  long  months  go  by.  Gervais  had  just 
completed  his  first  year,  and  fine  weather,  setting  in  early, 
was  hastening  the  awaking  of  the  earth.  One  morning, 
when  Marianne  and  the  children  went  to  join  Mathieu  on 
the  plateau,  they  raised  shouts  of  wonder,  so  completely 
had  the  sun  transformed  the  expanse  in  a  single  week.  It 
was  now  all  green  velvet,  a  thick  endless  carpet  of  sprout- 
ing corn,  of  tender,  delicate  emerald  hue.  Never  had  such 
a  marvellous  crop  been  seen.  And  thus,  as  the  family 
walked  on  through  the  mild,  radiant  April  morning,  amid 
the  country  now  roused  from  winter's  sleep,  and  quivering 
with  fresh  youth,  they  all  waxed  merry  at  the  sight  of  that 
healthfulness,  that  progressing  fruitfulness,  which  promised 


FRUITFULNESS  191 

the  fulfilment  of  all  their  hopes.  And  their  rapture  yet 
increased  when,  all  at  once,  they  noticed  that  little  Gervais 
also  was  awaking  to  life,  acquiring  decisive  strength.  As 
he  struggled  in  his  little  carriage  and  his  mother,  removed 
him  from  it,  behold !  he  took  his  flight,  and,  staggering, 
made  four  steps ;  then  hung  to  his  father's  legs  with  his 
little  fists.  A  cry  of  extraordinary  delight  burst  forth. 

"  Why !  he  walks,  he  walks  !  " 

Ah  !  those  first  lispings  of  life,  those  successive  flights 
of  the  dear  little  ones ;  the  first  glance,  the  first  smile,  the 
first  step  —  what  joy  do  they  not  bring  to  parents'  hearts  ! 
They  are  the  rapturous  etapes  of  infancy,  for  which  father 
and  mother  watch,  which  they  await  impatiently,  which  they 
hail  with  exclamations  of  victory,  as  if  each  were  a  con- 
quest, a  fresh  triumphal  entry  into  life.  The  child  grows, 
the  child  becomes  a  man.  And  there  is  yet  the  first  tooth, 
forcing  its  way  like  a  needle-point  through  rosy  gums ;  and 
there  is  also  the  first  stammered  word,  the  "  pa-pa,"  the 
"  mam-ma,"  which  one  is  quite  ready  to  detect  amid  the 
vaguest  babble,  though  it  be  but  the  purring  of  a  kitten, 
the  chirping  of  a  bird.  Life  does  its  work,  and  the  father 
and  the  mother  are  ever  wonderstruck  with  admiration  and 
emotion  at  the  sight  of  that  efflorescence  alike  of  their  flesh 
and  their  souls. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Marianne,  "  he  will  come  back 
to  me.  Gervais  !  Gervais  !  " 

And  after  a  little  hesitation,  a  false  start,  the  child  did 
indeed  return,  taking  the  four  steps  afresh,  with  arms  ex- 
tended and  beating  the  air  as  if  they  were  balancing-poles. 

"  Gervais  !  Gervais  !  "  called  Mathieu  in  his  turn.  And 
the  child  went  back  to  him ;  and  again  anH  again  did  they 
want  him  to  repeat  the  journey,  amid  their  mirthful  cries, 
so  pretty  and  so  funny  did  they  find  him. 

Then,  seeing  that  the  four  other  children  began  playing 
rather  roughly  with  him  in  their  enthusiasm,  Marianne 
carried  him  away.  And  once  more,  on  the  same  spot,  on 
the  young  grass,  did  she  give  him  the  breast.  And  again 
did  the  stream  of  milk  trickle  forth. 


i92  FRUITFULNESS 

Close  by  that  spot,  skirting  the  new  field,  there  passed  a 
crossroad,  in  rather  bad  condition,  leading  to  a  neighboring 
village.  And  on  this  road  a  cart  suddenly  came  into  sight, 
jolting  amid  the  ruts,  and  driven  by  a  peasant  —  who  was 
so  absorbed  in  his  contemplation  of  the  land  which  Mathieu 
had  cleared,  that  he  would  have  let  his  horse  climb  upon  a 
heap  of  stones  had  not  a  woman  who  accompanied  him 
abruptly  pulled  the  reins.  The  horse  then  stopped,  and  the 
man  in  a  jeering  voice  called  out :  "  So  this,  then,  is  your 
work,  Monsieur  Froment  ?  " 

Mathieu  and  Marianne  thereupon  recognized  the  Lepail- 
leurs,  the  people  of  the  mill.  They  were  well  aware  that 
folks  laughed  at  Janville  over  the  folly  of  their  attempt  — 
that  mad  idea  of  growing  wheat  among  the  marshes  of  the 
plateau.  Lepailleur,  in  particular,  distinguished  himself  by 
the  violent  raillery  he  levelled  at  this  Parisian,  a  gentleman 
born,  with  a  good  berth,  who  was  so  stupid  as  to  make 
himself  a  peasant,  and  fling  what  money  he  had  to  that 
rascally  earth,  which  would  assuredly  swallow  him  and  his 
children  and  his  money  all  together,  without  yielding  even 
enough  wheat  to  keep  them  in  bread.  And  thus  the  sight 
of  the  field  had  stupefied  him.  It  was  a  long  while  since 
he  had  passed  that  way,  and  he  had  never  thought  that  the 
seed  would  sprout  so  thickly,  for  he  had  repeated  a  hundred 
times  that  nothing  would  germinate,  so  rotten  was  all  the 
land.  Although  he  almost  choked  with  covert  anger  at 
seeing  his  predictions  thus  falsified,  he  was  unwilling  to 
admit  his  error,  and  put  on  an  air  of  ironical  doubt. 

"  So  you  think  it  will  grow,  eh  ?  Well,  one  can't  say 
that  it  hasn't  come  up.  Only  one  must  see  if  it  can  stand 
and  ripen."  And  as  Mathieu  quietly  smiled  with  hope  and 
confidence,  he  added,  striving  to  poison  his  joy  :  "  Ah  ! 
when  you  know  the  earth  you'll  find  what  a  hussy  she  is. 
I've  seen  plenty  of  crops  coming  on  magnificently,  and 
then  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind,  a  mere  trifle,  has  reduced 
them  to  nothing  !  But  you  are  young  at  the  trade  as  yet ; 
you'll  get  your  experience  in  misfortune." 

His  wife,  who  nodded  approval  on  hearing  him  talk  so 


FRUITFULNESS  193 

finely,  then  addressed  herself  to  Marianne  :  "  Oh !  my  man 
doesn't  say  that  to  discourage  you,  madame.  But  the  land 
you  know,  is  just  like  children.  There  are  some  who  live 
and  some  who  die ;  some  who  give  one  pleasure,  and  others 
who  kill  one  with  grief.  But,  all  considered,  one  always 
bestows  more  on  them  than  one  gets  back,  and  in  the  end 
one  finds  oneself  duped.  You'll  see,  you'll  see." 

Without  replying,  Marianne,  moved  by  these  malicious 
predictions,  gently  raised  her  trustful  eyes  to  Mathieu. 
And  he,  though  for  a  moment  irritated  by  all  the  ignorance, 
envy,  and  imbecile  ambition  which  he  felt  were  before  him, 
contented  himself  with  jesting.  "  That's  it,  we'll  see. 
When  your  son  Antoine  becomes  a  prefect,  and  I  have 
twelve  peasant  daughters  ready,  I'll  invite  you  to  their  wed- 
dings, for  it's  your  mill  that  ought  to  be  rebuilt,  you  know, 
and  provided  with  a  fine  engine,  so  as  to  grind  all  the  corn 
of  my  property  yonder,  left  and  right,  everywhere  !  " 

The  sweep  of  his  arm  embraced  such  a  far  expanse  of 
ground  that  the  miller,  who  did  not  like  to  be  derided, 
almost  lost  his  temper.  He  lashed  his  horse  with  his  whip, 
and  the  cart  jolted  on  again  through  the  ruts. 

14  Wheat  in  the  ear  is  not  wheat  in  the  mill,"  said  he. 
"Au  revoir,  and  good  luck  to  you,  all  the  same." 

44  Thanks,  au  revoir." 

Then,  while  the  children  still  ran  about,  seeking  early 
primroses  among  the  mosses,  Mathieu  came  and  sat  down 
beside  Marianne,  who,  he  saw,  was  quivering.  He  said 
nothing  to  her,  for  he  knew  that  she  possessed  sufficient 
strength  and  confidence  to  surmount,  unaided,  such  fears 
for  the  future  as  threats  might  kindle  in  her  womanly  heart. 
But  he  simply  set  himself  there,  so  near  her  that  he  touched 
her,  looking  and  smiling  at  her  the  while.  And  she  imme- 
diately became  calm  again  and  likewise  smiled,  while  little 
Gervais,  whom  the  words  of  the  malicious  could  not  as  yet 
disturb,  nursed  more  eagerly  than  ever,  with  a  purr  of  rap- 
turous satisfaction.  The  milk  was  ever  trickling,  bringing 
flesh  to  little  limbs  which  grew  stronger  day  by  day,  spread- 
ing through  the  earth,  filling  the  whole  world,  nourishing 


i94  FRUITFULNESS 

the  life  which  increased  hour  by  hour.  And  was  not  this 
the  answer  which  faith  and  hope  returned  to  all  threats  of 
death?  —  the  certainty  of  life's  victory,  with  fine  children 
ever  growing  in  the  sunlight,  and  fine  crops  ever  rising  from 
the  soil  at  each  returning  spring  !  To-morrow,  yet  once 
again,  on  the  glorious  day  of  harvest,  the  corn  will  have 
ripened,  the  children  will  be  men  ! 

And  it  was  thus,  indeed,  three  months  later,  when  the 
Beauchenes  and  the  Seguins,  keeping  their  promise,  came  — 
husbands,  wives,  and  children  —  to  spend  a  Sunday  after- 
noon at  Chantebled.  The  Froments  had  even  prevailed  on 
Morange  to  be  of  the  party  with  Reine,  in  their  desire  to 
draw  him  for  'a  day,  at  any  rate,  from  the  dolorous  prostra- 
tion in  which  he  lived.  As  soon  as  all  these  fine  folks  had 
alighted  from  the  train  it  was  decided  to  go  up  to  the  plateau 
to  see  the  famous  fields,  for  everybody  was  curious  about 
them,  so  extravagant  and  inexplicable  did  the  idea  of  Ma- 
thieu's  return  to  the  soil,  and  transformation  into  a  peasant, 
seem  to  them.  He  laughed  gayly,  and  at  least  he  succeeded 
in  surprising  them  when  he  waved  his  hand  towards  the 
great  expanse  under  the  broad  blue  sky,  that  sea  of  tall 
green  stalks  whose  ears  were  already  heavy  and  undulated 
at  the  faintest  breeze.  That  warm  splendid  afternoon,  the 
far-spreading  fields  looked  like  the  very  triumph  of  fruitful- 
ness,  a  growth  of  germs  which  the  humus  amassed  through 
centuries  had  nourished  with  prodigious  sap,  thus  producing 
this  first  formidable  crop,  as  if  to  glorify  the  eternal  source 
of  life  which  sleeps  in  the  earth's  flanks.  The  milk  had 
streamed,  and  the  corn  now  grew  on  all  sides  with  overflow- 
ing energy,  creating  health  and  strength,  bespeaking  man's 
labor  and  the  kindliness,  the  solidarity  of  the  world.  It 
was  like  a  beneficent,  nourishing  ocean,  in  which  all  hunger 
would  be  appeased,  and  in  which  to-morrow  might  arise, 
amid  that  tide  of  wheat  whose  waves  were  ever  carrying 
good  news  to  the  horizon. 

True,  neither  Constance  nor  Valentine  was  greatly  touched 
by  the  sight  of  the  waving  wheat,  for  other  ambitions  filled 
their  minds :  and  Morange,  though  he  stared  with  his  vague 


FRUITFULNESS  195 

dim  eyes,  did  not  even  seem  to  see  it.  But  Beauchene  and 
Seguin  marvelled,  for  they  remembered  their  visit  in  the 
month  of  January,  when  the  frozen  ground  had  been  wrapt 
in  sleep  and  mystery.  They  had  then  guessed  nothing,  and 
now  they  were  amazed  at  this  miraculous  awakening,  this 
conquering  fertility,  which  had  changed  a  part  of  the  marshy 
tableland  into  a  field  of  living  wealth.  And  Seguin,  in  par- 
ticular, did  not  cease  praising  and  admiring,  certain  as  he 
now  felt  that  he  would  be  paid*  and  already  hoping  that 
Mathieu  would  soon  take  a  further  portion  of  the  estate  off 
his  hands. 

Then,  as  soon  as  they  had  walked  to  the  old  pavilion, 
now  transformed  into  a  little  farm,  and  had  seated  them- 
selves in  the  garden,  pending  dinner-time,  the  conversation 
fell  upon  children.  Marianne,  as  it  happened,  had  weaned 
Gervais  the  day  before,  and  he  was  there  among  the  ladies, 
still  somewhat  unsteady  on  his  legs,  and  yet  boldly  going 
from  one  to  the  other,  careless  of  his  frequent  falls  on  his 
back  or  his  nose.  He  was  a  gay-spirited  child  who  seldom 
lost  his  temper,  doubtless  because  his  health  was  so  good. 
His  big  clear  eyes  were  ever  laughing  j  he  offered  his  little 
hands  in  a  friendly  way,  and  was  very  white,  very  pink,  and 
very  sturdy  —  quite  a  little  man  indeed,  though  but  fifteen 
and  a  half  months  old.  Constance  and  Valentine  admired 
him,  while  Marianne  jested  and  turned  him  away  each  time 
that  he  greedily  put  out  his  little  hands  towards  her. 

1  No,  no,  monsieur,  it's  over  now.  You  will  have  noth- 
ing but  soup  in  future." 

"  Weaning  is  such  a  terrible  business,"  then  remarked 
Constance.  "  Did  he  let  you  sleep  last  night  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  he  had  good  habits,  you  know ;  he  never 
troubled  me  at  night.  But  this  morning  he  was  stupefied 
and  began  to  cry.  Still,  you  see,  he  is  fairly  well  behaved 
already.  Besides,  I  never  had  more  trouble  than  this  with 
the  other  ones." 

Beauchene  was  standing  there,  listening,  and,  as  usual, 
smoking  a  cigar.  Constance  appealed  to  him  : 

"You    are  lucky.     But    you,    dear,    remember — don't 


196  FRUITFULNESS 

you?  —  what  a  life  Maurice  led  us  when  his  nurse  went 
away.  For  three  whole  nights  we  were  unable  to  sleep." 

"  But  just  look  how  your  Maurice  is  playing!  "  exclaimed 
Beauchene.  "  Yet  you'll  be  telling  me  again  that  he  is  ill." 

"  Oh  !  I  no  longer  say  that,  my  friend ;  he  is  quite  well 
now.  Besides,  I  was  never  anxious ;  I  know  that  he  is 
very  strong." 

A  great  game  of  hide-and-seek  was  going  on  in  the  gar- 
den, along  the  paths  and  even  over  the  flower-beds,  among 
the  eight  children  who  were  assembled  there.  Besides  the 
four  of  the  house  —  Blaise,  Denis,  Ambroise,  and  Rose  — 
there  were  Gaston  and  Lucie,  the  two  elder  children  of  the 
Seguins,  who  had  abstained,  however,  from  bringing  their 
other  daughter  —  little  Andree.  Then,  too,  both  Reine  and 
Maurice  were  present.  And  the  latter  now,  indeed,  seemed 
to  be  all  right  upon  his  legs,  though  his  square  face  with 
its  heavy  jaw  still  remained  somewhat  pale.  His  mother 
watched  him  running  about,  and  felt  so  happy  and  so  vain 
at  the  realization  of  her  dream  that  she  became  quite  amia- 
ble even  towards  these  poor  relatives  the  Froments,  whose 
retirement  into  the  country  seemed  to  her  like  an  incom- 
prehensible downfall,  which  forever  thrust  them  out  of  her 
social  sphere. 

"  Ah  !  well,"  resumed  Beauchene,  "  I've  only  one  boy, 
but  he's  a  sturdy  fellow,  I  warrant  it;  isn't  he,  Mathieu  ?  " 

These  words  had  scarcely  passed  his  lips  when  he  must 
have  regretted  them.  His  eyelids  quivered  and  a  little  chill 
came  over  him  as  his  glance  met  that  of  his  former  designer. 
For  in  the  latter's  clear  eyes  he  beheld,  as  it  were,  a  vision 
of  that  other  son,  Norine's  ill-fated  child,  who  had  been  cast 
into  the  unknown.  Then  there  came  a  pause,  and  amid 
the  shrill  cries  of  the  boys  and  girls  playing  at  hide-and-seek 
a  number  of  little  shadows  flitted  through  the  sunlight :  they 
were  the  shadows  of  the  poor  doomed  babes  who  scarce  saw 
the  light  before  they  were  carried  off  from  homes  and 
hospitals  to  be  abandoned  in  corners,  and  die  of  cold,  and 
perhaps  even  of  starvation  ! 

Mathieu  had  been  unable  to  answer  a  word.     And  his 


FRUITFULNESS  197 

emotion  increased  when  he  noticed  Morange  huddled  up  on 
a  chair,  and  gazing  with  blurred,  tearful  eyes  at  little  Gervais, 
who  was  laughingly  toddling  hither  and  thither.  Had  a 
vision  come  to  him  also  ?  Had  the  phantom  of  his  dead 
wife,  shrinking  from  the  duties  of  motherhood  and  murdered 
in  a  hateful  den,  risen  before  him  in  that  sunlit  garden, 
amid  all  the  turbulent  mirth  of  happy,  playful  children  ? 

"  What  a  pretty  girl  your  daughter  Reine  is  !  "  said 
Mathieu,  in  the  hope  of  drawing  the  accountant  from  his 
haunting  remorse.  "  Just  look  at  her  running  about !  —  so 
girlish  still,  as  if  she  were  not  almost  old  enough  to  be 
married." 

Morange  slowly  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  his 
daughter.  And  a  smile  returned  to  his  eyes,  still  moist 
with  tears.  Day  by  day  his  adoration  increased.  As  Reine 
grew  up  he  found  her  more  and  more  like  her  mother,  and 
all  his  thoughts  became  centred  in  her.  His  one  yearning 
was  that  she  might  be  very  beautiful,  very  happy,  very 
rich.  That  would  be  a  sign  that  he  was  forgiven  —  that 
would  be  the  only  joy  for  which  he  could  yet  hope.  And 
amid  it  all  there  was  a  vague  feeling  of  jealousy  at  the 
thought  that  a  husband  would  some  day  take  her  from  him, 
and  that  he  would  remain  alone  in  utter  solitude,  alone  with 
the  phantom  of  his  dead  wife. 

"  Married  ?  "  he  murmured  ;  "  oh  !  not  yet.  She  is  only 
fourteen." 

At  this  the  others  expressed  surprise :  they  would  have 
taken  her  to  be  quite  eighteen,  so  womanly  was  her  pre- 
cocious beauty  already. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  resumed  her  father,  feeling  flat- 
tered, "  she  has  already  been  asked  in  marriage.  You  know 
that  the  Baroness  de  Lowicz  is  kind  enough  to  take  her  out 
now  and  then.  Well,  she  told  me  that  an  arch-millionnaire 
had  fallen  in  love  with  Reine  —  but  he'll  have  to  wait !  I 
shall  still  be  able  to  keep  her  to  myself  for  another  five  or 
six  years  at  least  !  " 

He  no  longer  wept,  but  gave  a  little  laugh  of  egotistical 
satisfaction,  without  noticing  the  chill  occasioned  by  the 


198  FRUITFULNESS 

mention  of  Seraphine's  name ;  for  even  Beauchene  felt  that 
his  sister  was  hardly  a  fit  companion  for  a  young  girl. 

Then  Marianne,  anxious  at  seeing  the  conversation  drop, 
began  questioning  Valentine,  while  Gervais  at  last  slyly 
crept  to  her  knees. 

u  Why  did  you  not  bring  your  little  Andree  ?  "  she  in- 
quired. "  I  should  have  been  so  pleased  to  kiss  her.  And 
she  would  have  been  able  to  play  with  this  little  gentleman, 
who,  you  see,  does  not  leave  me  a  moment's  peace." 

But  Seguin  did  not  give  his  wife  time  to  reply.  "  Ah  ! 
no,  indeed  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  in  that  case  I  should  not  have 
come.  It  is  quite  enough  to  have  to  drag  the  two  others 
about.  That  fearful  child  has  not  ceased  deafening  us  ever 
since  her  nurse  went  awayf' 

Valentine  then  explained!  that  Andree  was  not  really  well 
behaved.  She  had  been  weaned  at  the  beginning  of  the 
previous  week,  and  La  Catiche,  after  terrorizing  the  house- 
hold for  more  than  a  year,  had  plunged  it  by  her  departure 
into  anarchy.  Ah  !  that  Catiche,  she  might  compliment 
herself  on  all  the  money  she  had  cost !  Sent  away  almost 
by  force,  like  a  queen  who  is  bound  to  abdicate  at  last,  she 
had  been  loaded  with  presents  for  herself  and  her  husband, 
and  her  little  girl  at  the  village !  And  now  it  had  been  of 
little  use  to  take  a  dry-nurse  in  her  place,  for  Andree  did 
not  cease  shrieking  from  morning  till  night.  They  had 
discovered,  too,  that  La  Catiche  had  not  only  carried  off 
with  her  a  large  quantity  of  linen,  but  had  left  the  other 
servants  quite  spoilt,  disorganized,  so  that  a  general  clear- 
ance seemed  necessary. 

"  Oh  ! "  resumed  Marianne,  as  if  to  smooth  things, "  when 
the  children  are  well  one  can  overlook  other  worries." 

"  Why,  do  you  imagine  that  Andree  is  well  ?  "  cried 
Seguin,  giving  way  to  one  of  his  brutal  fits.  "  That  Catiche 
certainly  set  her  right  at  first,  but  I  don't  know  what  hap- 
pened afterwards,  for  now  she  is  simply  skin  and  bones." 
Then,  as  his  wife  wished  to  protest,  he  lost  his  temper. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  don't  speak  the  truth  ?  Why, 
look  at  our  two  others  yonder  :  they  have  papier-mache  faces, 


FRUITFULNESS  199 

too  !  It  is  evident  that  you  don't  look  after  them  enough. 
You  know  what  a  poor  opinion  Santerre  has  of  them  !  " 

For  him  Santerre's  opinion  remained  authoritative.  How- 
ever, Valentine  contented  herself  with  shrugging  her  shoul- 
ders ;  while  the  others,  feeling  slightly  embarrassed,  looked 
at  Gaston  and  Lucie,  who  amid  the  romping  of  their  com- 
panions, soon  lost  breath  and  lagged  behind,  sulky  and  dis- 
trustful. 

"  But,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Constance  to  Valentine, 
"  didn't  our  good  Doctor  Boutan  tell  you  that  all  the  trouble 
came  from  your  not  nursing  your  children  yourself?  At 
all  events,  that  was  the  compliment  that  he  paid  me." 

At  the  mention  of  Boutan  a  friendly  shout  arose.  Oh  ! 
Boutan,  Boutan  !  he  was  like  all  other  specialists.  Seguin 
sneered  ;  Beauchene  jested  about  the  legislature  decreeing; 

J  O  D 

compulsory  nursing  by  mothers;  and  only  Mathieu  and 
Marianne  remained  silent. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  friend,  we  are  not  jesting  about 
you,"  said  Constance,  turning  towards  the  latter.  "  Your 
children  are  superb,  and  nobody  says  the  contrary." 

Marianne  gayly  waved  her  hand,  as  if  to  reply  that  they 
were  free  to  make  fun  of  her  if  they  pleased.  But  at  this 
moment  she  perceived  that  Gervais,  profiting  by  her  inatten- 
tion, was  busy  seeking  his  "  paradise  lost."  And  thereupon 
she  set  him  on  the  ground  :  "  Ah,  no,  no,  monsieur !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  I  have  told  you  that  it  is  all  over.  Can't 
you  see  that  people  would  laugh  at  us  ?  " 

Then  for  her  and  her  husband  came  a  delightful  moment. 
He  was  looking  at  her  with  deep  emotion.  Her  duty 
accomplished,  she  was  now  returning  to  him,  for  she 
was  spouse  as  well  as  mother.  Never  had  he  thought  her 
so  beautiful,  possessed  of  so  strong  and  so  calm  a  beauty, 
radiant  with  the  triumph  of  happy  motherhood,  as  though 
indeed  a  spark  of  something  divine  had  been  imparted  to 
her  by  that  river  of  milk  that  had  streamed  from  her  bosom. 
A  song  of  glory  seemed  to  sound,  glory  to  the  source  of  life, 
glory  to  the  true  mother,  to  the  one  who  nourishes,  her 
travail  o'er.  For  there  is  none  other ;  the  rest  are  imper- 


200  FRUITFULNESS 

feet  and  cowardly,  responsible  for  incalculable  disasters. 
And  on  seeing  her  thus,  in  that  glory,  amid  her  vigorous 
children,  like  the  good  goddess  of  Fruitfulness,  Mathieu  felt 
that  he  adored  her.  Divine  passion  swept  by  —  the  glow 
which  makes  the  fields  palpitate,  which  rolls  on  through  the 
waters,  and  floats  in  the  wind,  begetting  millions  and  millions 
of  existences.  And  'twas  delightful  the  ecstasy  into  which 
they  both  sank,  forgetfulness  of  all  else,  of  all  those  others 
who  were  there.  They  saw  them  no  longer ;  they  felt  but 
one  desire,  to  say  that  they  loved  each  other,  and  that  the 
season  had  come  when  love  blossoms  afresh.  His  lips  pro- 
truded, she  offered  hers,  and  then  they  kissed. 

"  Oh  !  don't  disturb  yourselves  !  "  cried  Beauchene 
merrily.  "  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? " 

u  Would  you  like  us  to  move  away  ?  "  added  Seguin. 

But  while  Valentine  laughed  wildly,  and  Constance  put 
on  a  prudish  air,  Morange,  in  whose  voice  tears  were  again 
rising,  spoke  these  words,  fraught  with  supreme  regret : 
"Ah!  you  are  right!  " 

Astonished  at  what  they  had  done,  without  intention  of 
doing  it,  Mathieu  and  Marianne  remained  for  a  moment 
speechless,  looking  at  one  another  in  consternation.  And 
then  they  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh,  gayly  excusing  them- 
selves. To  love  !  to  love  !  to  be  able  to  love  !  Therein 
lies  all  health,  all  will,  and  all  power. 


XII 

FOUR  years  went  by.  And  during  those  four  years 
Mathieu  and  Marianne  had  two  more  children,  a  daughter 
at  the  end  of  the  first  year  and  a  son  at  the  expiration  of 
the  third.  And  each  time  that  the  family  thus  increased, 
the  estate  at  Chantebled  was  increased  also  —  on  the  first 
occasion  by  fifty  more  acres  of  rich  soil  reclaimed  among 
the  marshes  of  the  plateau,  and  the  second  time  by  an 
extensive  expanse  of  wood  and  moorland  which  the  springs 
were  beginning  to  fertilize.  It  was  the  resistless  conquest 
of  life,  it  was  fruitfulness  spreading  in  the  sunlight,  it  was 
labor  ever  incessantly  pursuing  its  work  of  creation  amid 
obstacles  and  suffering,  making  good  all  losses,  and  at  each 
succeeding  hour  setting  more  energy,  more  health,  and  more 
joy  in  the  veins  of  the  world. 

On  the  day  when  Mathieu  called  on  Seguin  to  purchase 
the  wood  and  moorland,  he  lunched  with  Dr.  Boutan,  whom 
he  found  in  an  execrable  humor.  The  doctor  had  just  heard 
that  three  of  his  former  patients  had  lately  passed  through 
the  hands  of  his  colleague  Gaude,  the  notorious  surgeon  to 
whose  clinic  at  the  Marbeuf  Hospital  society  Paris  flocked 
as  to  a  theatre.  One  of  these  patients  was  none  other  than 
Euphrasie,  old  Moineaud's  eldest  daughter,  now  married  to 
Auguste  Benard,  a  mason,  and  already  the  mother  of  three 
children.  She  had  doubtless^  resumed  her  usual  avocations 
too  soon  after  the  birth  of  her  last  child,  as  often  happens 
in  working-class  families  where  the  mother  is  unable  to 
remain  idle.  At  all  events,  she  had  for  some  time  been  ail- 
ing, and  had  finally  been  removed  to  the  hospital.  Mathieu 
had  for  a  while  employed  her  young  sister  Cecile,  now 
seventeen,  as  a  servant  in  the  house  at  Chantebled,  but  she 

20 1 


202  FRUITFULNESS 

was  of  poor  health  and  had  returned  to  Paris,  where, 
curiously  enough,  she  also  entered  Doctor  Gaude's  clinic. 
And  Boutan  waxed  indignant  at  the  methods  which  Gaude 
employed.  The  two  sisters,  the  married  woman  and  the 
girl,  had  been  discharged  as  cured,  and  so  far,  this  might 
seem  to  be  the  case;  but  time,  in  Boutan's  opinion,  would 
bring  round  some  terrible  revenges. 

One  curious  point  of  the  affair  was  that  Beauchene's  dis- 
solute sister,  Seraphine,  having  heard  of  these  so-called  cures, 
which  the  newspapers  had  widely  extolled,  had  actually 
sought  out  the  Benards  and  the  Moineauds  to  interview 
Euphrasie  and  Cecile  on  the  subject.  And  in  the  result  she 
likewise  had  placed  herself  in  Gaude's  hands.  She  certainly 
was  of  little  account,  and,  whatever  might  become  of  her,  the 
world  would  be  none  the  poorer  by  her  death.  But  Boutan 
pointed  out  that  during  the  fifteen  years  that  Gaude's 
theories  and  practices  had  prevailed  in  France,  no  fewer 
than  half  a  million  women  had  been  treated  accordingly, 
and,  in  the  vast  majority  of  cases,  without  any  such  treat- 
ment being  really  necessary.  Moreover,  Boutan  spoke 
feelingly  of  the  after  results  of  such  treatment  —  comparative 
health  for  a  few  brief  years,  followed  in  some  cases  by  a 
total  loss  of  muscular  energy,  and  in  others  by  insanity  of 
a  most  violent  form ;  so  that  the  padded  cells  of  the  mad- 
houses were  filling  year  by  year  with  the  unhappy  women 
who  had  passed  through  the  hands  of  Gaude  and  his 
colleagues.  From  a  social  point  of  view  also  the  effects 
were  disastrous.  They  ran  counter  to  all  Boutan's  own 
theories,  and  blasted  all  his  hopes  of  living  to  see  France 
again  holding  a  foremost  place  among  the  nations  of  the 
earth. 

"  Ah !  "  said  he  to  Mathieu,  "  if  people  were  only  like 
you  and  your  good  wife  !  " 

During  those  four  years  at  Chantebled  the  Froments  had 
been  ever  founding,  creating,  increasing,  and  multiplying, 
again  and  again  proving  victorious  in  the  eternal  battle 
which  life  wages  against  death,  thanks  to  that  continual 
increase  both  of  offspring  and  of  fertile  land  which  was  like 


FRUITFULNESS  203 

their  very  existence,  their  joy  and  their  strength.  Desire 
passed  like  a  gust  of  flame  —  desire  divine  and  fruitful, 
since  they  possessed  the  power  of  love,  kindliness,  and 
health.  And  their  energy  did  the  rest  —  that  will  of 
action,  that  quiet  bravery  in  the  presence  of  the  labor 
that  is  necessary,  the  labor  that  has  made  and  that  regu- 
lates the  earth.  But  during  the  first  two  years  they  had  to 
struggle  incessantly.  There  were  two  disastrous  winters 
with  snow  and  ice,  and  March  brought  hail-storms  and 
hurricanes  which  left  the  crops  lying  low.  Even  as 
Lepailleur  had  threateningly  predicted  with  a  laugh  of 
impotent  envy,  it  seemed  as  if  the  earth  meant  to  prove  a 
bad  mother,  ungrateful  to  them  for  their  toil,  indifferent  to 
their  losses.  During  those  two  years  they  only  extricated 
themselves  from  trouble  thanks  to  the  second  fifty  acres 
that  they  purchased  from  Seguin,  to  the  west  of  the  plateau, 
a  fresh  expanse  of  rich  soil  which  they  reclaimed  amid  the 
marshes,  and  which,  in  spite  of  frost  and  hail,  yielded  a  pro- 
digious first  harvest.  As  the  estate  gradually  expanded,  it 
also  grew  stronger,  better  able  to  bear  ill-luck. 

But  Mathieu  and  Marianne  also  had  great  family  worries. 
Their  five  elder  children  gave  them  much  anxiety,  much 
fatigue.  As  with  the  soil,  here  again  there  was  a  daily 
battle,  endless  cares  and  endless  fears.  Little  Gervais  was 
stricken  with  fever  and  narrowly  escaped  death.  Rose,  too, 
one  day  filled  them  with  the  direst  alarm,  for  she  fell  from 
a  tree  in  their  presence,  but  fortunately  with  no  worse 
injury  than  a  sprain.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  they  were 
happy  in  the  three  others,  Blaise,  Denis,  and  Ambroise, 
who  proved  as  healthy  as  young  oak-trees.  And  when 
Marianne  gave  birth  to  her  sixth  child,  on  whom  they 
bestowed  the  gay  name  of  Claire,  Mathieu  celebrated  the 
new  pledge  of  their  affection  by  further  acquisitions. 

Then,  during  the  two  ensuing  years,  their  battles  and 
sadness  and  joy  all  resulted  in  victory  once  more.  Mari- 
anne gave  birth,  and  Mathieu  conquered  new  lands.  There 
was  ever  much  labor,  much  life  expended,  and  much  life 
realized  and  harvested.  This  time  it  was  a  question  of 


204  FRUITFULNESS 

enlarging  the  estate  on  the  side  of  the  moorlands,  the  sandy, 
gravelly  slopes  where  nothing  had  grown  for  centuries.  The 
captured  sources  of  the  tableland,  directed  towards  those 
uncultivated  tracts,  gradually  fertilized  them,  covered  them 
with  increasing  vegetation.  There  were  partial  failures  at 
first,  and  defeat  even  seemed  possible,  so  great  was  the 
patient  determination  which  the  creative  effort  demanded. 
But  here,  too,  the  crops  at  last  overflowed,  while  the 
intelligent  felling  of  a  part  of  the  purchased  woods  resulted 
in  a  large  profit,  and  gave  Mathieu  an  idea  of  cultivating 
some  of  the  spacious  clearings  hitherto  overgrown  with 
brambles. 

And  while  the  estate  spread  the  children  grew.  It  had 
been  necessary  to  send  the  three  elder  ones  —  Blaise,  Denis, 
and  Ambroise  —  to  a  school  in  Paris,  whither  they  gallantly 
repaired  each  day  by  the  first  train,  returning  only  in  the 
evening.  But  the  three  others,  little  Gervais  and  the  girls 
Rose  and  Claire,  were  still  allowed  all  freedom  in  the  midst 
of  Nature.  Marianne,  however,  gave  birth  to  a  seventh 
child,  amid  circumstances  which  caused  Mathieu  keen 
anxiety.  For  a  moment,  indeed,  he  feared  that  he  might 
lose  her.  But  her  healthful  temperament  triumphed  over 
all,  and  the  child  —  a  boy,  named  Gregoire  —  soon  drank 
life  and  strength  from  her  breast,  as  from  the  very  source 
of  existence.  When  Mathieu  saw  his  wife  smiling  again 
with  that  dear  little  one  in  her  arms,  he  embraced  her 
passionately,  and  triumphed  once  again  over  every  sorrow 
and  every  pang.  Yet  another  child,  yet  more  wealth  and 
power,  yet  an  additional  force  born  into  the  world,  another 
field  ready  for  to-morrow's  harvest. 

And  'twas  ever  the  great  work,  the  good  work,  the  work 
of  fruitfulness  spreading,  thanks  to  the  earth  and  to  woman, 
both  victorious  over  destruction,  offering  fresh  means  of 
subsistence  each  time  a  fresh  child  was  born,  and  loving, 
willing,  battling,  toiling  even  amid  suffering,  and  ever 
tending  to  increase  of  life  and  increase  of  hope. 
*  *  *  -  *  •*  * 

Then  two  more  years  rolled  on.     And  during  those  two 


FRUITFULNESS  205 

years  Mathieu  and  Marianne  had  yet  another  child,  a  girl. 
And  again,  at  the  same  time  as  the  family  increased,  the 
estate  of  Chantebled  was  increased  also  —  on  one  side  by 
five-and-seventy  acres  of  woodland  stretching  over  the 
plateau  as  far  as  the  fields  of  Mareuil,  and  on  the  other  by 
five-and-seventy  acres  of  sloping  moorland,  extending  to 
the  village  of  Monval,  alongside  the  railway  line.  But  the 
principal  change  was  that,  as  the  old  hunting-box,  the  little 
dilapidated  pavilion,  no  longer  offered  sufficient  accommo- 
dation, a  whole  farmstead  had  to  be  erected  —  stone  build- 
ings, and  barns,  and  sheds,  and  stables,  and  cowhouses  — 
for  farm  hands  and  crops  and  animals,  whose  number 
increased  at  each  enlargement  of  the  estate. 

It  was  the  resistless  conquest  of  life ;  it  was  fruitfulness 
spreading  in  the  sunlight ;  it  was  labor  ever  incessantly 
pursuing  its  work  of  creation  amid  obstacles  and  suffering, 
ever  making  good  all  losses,  and  at  each  succeeding  hour 
setting  more  energy,  more  health,  and  more  joy  in  the 
veins  of  the  world. 

But  during  those  two  years,  while  Chantebled  grew, 
while  labor  and  worry  and  victory  alternated,  Mathieu 
suddenly  found  himself  mixed  up  in  a  terribly  tragedy.  He 
was  obliged  to  come  to  Paris  at  times  —  more  often  indeed 
than  he  cared  —  now  through  his  business  relations  with 
Seguin,  now  to  sell,  now  to  buy,  now  to  order  one  thing  or 
another.  He  often  purchased  implements  and  appliances 
at  the  Beauchene  works,  and  had  thus  kept  up  intercourse 
with  Morange,  who  once  more  seemed  a  changed  man. 
Time  had  largely  healed  the  wound  left  by  his  wife's  death, 
particularly  as  she  seemed  to  live  again  in  Reine,  to  whom 
he  was  more  attached  than  ever.  Reine  was  no  longer  a 
child ;  she  had  become  a  woman.  Still  her  father  hoped 
to  keep  her  with  him  some  years  yet,  while  working  with 
all  diligence,  saving  and  saving  every  penny  that  he  could 
spare,  in  order  to  increase  her  dowry. 

But  the  inevitable  was  on  the  march,  for  the  girl  had 
become  the  constant  companion  of  Seraphine.  The  latter, 
however  depraved  she  might  be,  had  certainly  in  the  first 


206  FRUITFULNESS 

instance  entertained  no  idea  of  corrupting  the  child  whom 
she  patronized.  She  had  at  first  taken  her  solely  to  such 
places  of  amusement  as  were  fit  for  her  years  and  under- 
standing. But  little  by  little  the  descent  had  come.  Reine, 
too,  as  she  grew  into  a  woman,  amid  the  hours  of  idleness 
when  she  was  left  alone  by  her  father — who,  perforce, 
had  to  spend  his  days  at  the  Beauchene  works  —  developed 
an  ardent  temperament  and  a  thirst  for  every  frivolous 
pleasure.  And  by  degrees  the  once  simply  petted  child 
became  a  participator  in  Seraphine's  own  reckless  and  disso- 
lute life. 

When  the  end  came,  and  Reine  found  herself  in  dire 
trouble  because  of  a  high  State  functionary,  a  married  man, 
a  friend  of  Seraphine's  —  both  women  quite  lost  their  heads. 
Such  a  blow  might  kill  Morange.  Everything  must  be 
hidden  from  him  ;  but  how  ?  Thereupon  Seraphine  devised 
a  plan.  She  obtained  permission  for  Reine  to  accompany 
her  on  a  visit  into  the  country ;  but  while  the  fond  father 
imagined  that  his  daughter  was  enjoying  herself  among 
society  folk  at  a  chateau  in  the  Loiret,  she  was  really  hid- 
ing in  Paris.  It  was  indeed  a  repetition  of  her  mother's 
tragic  story,  with  this  difference  —  that  Seraphine  addressed 
herself  to  no  vulgar  Madame  Rouche,  but  to  an  assistant 
of  her  own  surgeon,  Gaude,  a  certain  Sarraille,  who  had  a 
dingy  den  of  a  clinic  in  the  Passage  Tivoli. 

It  was  a  bright  day  in  August,  and  Mathieu,  who  had 
come  to  Paris  to  make  some  purchases  at  the  Beauchene 
works,  was  lunching  alone  with  Morange  at  the  latter's 
flat,  when  Seraphine  arrived  there  breathless  and  in  conster- 
nation. Reine,  she  said,  had  been  taken  ill  in  the  country, 
and  she  had  brought  her  back  to  Paris  to  her  own  flat.  But 
it  was  not  thither ;  it  was  to  Sarraille's  den  that  she  drove 
Morange  and  Mathieu.  And  there  the  frightful  scene 
which  had  been  enacted  at  La  Rouche's  at  the  time  of 
Valerie's  death  was  repeated.  Reine,  too,  was  dead  —  dead 
like  her  mother !  And  Morange,  in  a  first  outburst  of 
fury  threatened  both  Seraphine  and  Sarraille  with  the  scaffold. 
For  half  an  hour  there  was  no  mastering  him,  but  all  at 


FRUITFULNESS  207 

once  he  broke  down.  To  lose  his  daughter  as  he  had  lost 
his  wife,  it  was  too  appalling ;  the  blow  was  too  great ; 
he  had  strength  left  only  to  weep.  Sarraille,  moreover, 
defended  himself;  he  swore  that  he  had  known  nothing  of 
the  truth,  that  the  deceased  had  simply  come  to  him 
for  legitimate  treatment,  and  that  both  she  and  the  Bar- 
oness had  deceived  him.  Then  Seraphine  on  her  side  took 
hold  of  Morange's  hands,  protesting  her  devotion,  her 
frightful  grief,  her  fear,  too,  lest  the  reputation  of  the  poor 
dear  girl  should  be  dragged  through  the  mire,  if  he  (the 
father)  did  not  keep  the  terrible  secret.  She  accepted  her 
share  of  responsibility  and  blame,  admitted  that  she  had 
been  very  culpable,  and  spoke  of  eternal  remorse.  But 
might  the  terrible  truth  be  buried  in  the  dead  girl's  grave, 
might  there  be  none  but  pure  flowers  strewn  upon  that 
grave,  might  she  who  lay  therein  be  regretted  by  all  who 
had  known  her,  as  one  snatched  away  in  all  innocence  of 
youth  and  beauty  ! 

And  Morange  yielded  to  his  weakness  of  heart,  stifling 
the  while  with  sobs,  and  scarce  repeating  that  word  "  Mur- 
derers !  "  which  had  sprung  from  his  lips  so  impulsively  a 
little  while  before.  He  thought,  too,  of  the  scandal,  an 
autopsy,  a  court  of  law,  the  newspapers  recounting  the 

crime,  his  daughter's  memory  covered  with  mire,  and 

No  !  no  !  he  could  have  none  of  that.  Whatever  Seraphine 
might  be,  she  had  spoken  rightly. 

Then  his  powerlessness  to  avenge  his  daughter  completed 
his  prostration.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been  beaten  almost  to 
the  point  of  death ;  every  one  of  his  limbs  was  bruised,  his 
head  seemed  empty,  his  heart  cold  and  scarce  able  to  beat. 
And  he  sank  into  a  sort  of  second  childhood,  clasping  his 
hands  and  stammering  plaintively,  terrified,  and  beseeching 
compassion,  like  one  whose  sufferings  are  too  hard  to  bear. 

And  when  Mathieu  sought  to  console  him  he  muttered  : 
"  Oh,  it  is  all  over.  They  have  both  gone,  one  after  the 
other,  and  I  alone  am  guilty.  The  first  time  it  was  I  who 
lied  to  Reine,  telling  her  that  her  mother  was  travelling;  and 
then  she  in  her  turn  lied  to  me  the  other  day  with  that  story 


2o8  FRUITFULNESS 

of  an  invitation  to  a  chateau  in  the  country.  Ah  !  if  eight 
years  ago  I  had  only  opposed  my  poor  Valerie's  madness, 
my  poor  Reine  would  still  be  alive  to-day.  .  .  .  Yes,  it  is 
all  my  fault ;  I  alone  killed  them  by  my  weakness.  I  am 
their  murderer." 

Shivering,  deathly  cold,  he  went  on  amid  his  sobs  :  "  And, 
wretched  fool  that  I  have  been,  I  have  killed  them  through 
loving  them  too  much.  They  were  so  beautiful,  and  it  was 
so  excusable  for  them  to  be  rich  and  gay  and  happy.  One 
after  the  other  they  took  my  heart  from  me,  and  I  lived 
only  in  them  and  by  them  and  for  them.  When  one  had 
left  me,  the  other  became  my  all  in  all,  and  for  her,  my 
daughter,  I  again  indulged  in  the  dream  of  ambition  which 
had  originated  with  her  mother.  And  yet  I  killed  them 
both,  and  my  mad  desire  to  rise  and  conquer  fortune  led  me 
to  that  twofold  crime.  Ah  !  when  I  think  that  even  this 
morning  I  still  dared  to  esteem  myself  happy  at  having  but 
that  one  child,  that  daughter  to  cherish  !  What  foolish 
blasphemy  against  love  and  life !  She  is  dead  now,  dead 
like  her  mother,  and  I  am  alone,  with  nobody  to  love  and 
nobody  to  love  me — neither  wife  nor  daughter,  neither 
desire  nor  will,  but  alone  —  ah  !  all  alone,  forever!" 

It  was  the  cry  of  supreme  abandonment  that  he  raised, 
while  sinking  to  the  floor  strengthless,  with  a  great  void 
within  him ;  and  all  he  could  do  was  to  press  Mathieu's 
hands  and  stammer:  "Leave  me  —  tell  me  nothing.  You 
alone  were  right.  I  refused  the  offers  of  life,  and  life  has 
now  taken  everything  from  me." 

Mathieu,  in  tears  himself,  kissed  him  and  lingered  yet  a 
few  moments  longer  in  that  tragic  den,  feeling  more  moved 
than  he  had  ever  felt  before.  And  when  he  went  off  he 
left  the  unhappy  Morange  in  the  charge  of  Seraphine,  who 
now  treated  him  like  a  little  ailing  child  whose  will-power 
was  entirely  gone. 

And  at  Chantebled,  as  time  went  on,  Mathieu  and  Mari- 
anne founded,  created,  increased,  and  multiplied.  During 
the  two  years  which  elapsed,  they  again  proved  victorious 
in  the  .eternal  battle  which  life  wages  against  death,  thanks 


FRUITFULNESS  209 

to  that  continual  increase  both  of  offspring  and  of  fertile 
land  which  was  like  their  very  existence,  their  joy,  and  their 
strength.  Desire  passed  like  a  gust  of  flame  —  desire  divine 
and  fruitful,  since  they  possessed  the  power  of  love,  kindli- 
ness, and  health.  And  their  energy  did  the  rest  —  that  will 
of  action,  that  quiet  bravery  in  the  presence  of  the  labor 
that  is  necessary,  the  labor  that  has  made  and  that  regulates 
the  world.  They  were,  however,  still  in  the  hard,  trying, 
earlier  stage  of  their  work  of  conquest,  and  they  often  wept 
with  grief  and  anxiety.  Many  were  their  cares,  too,  in 
transforming  the  old  pavilion  into  a  farm.  The  outlay  was 
considerable,  and  at  times  it  seemed  as  if  the  crops  would 
never  pay  the  building  accounts.  Moreover,  as  the  enter- 
prise grew  in  magnitude,  and  there  came  more  and  more 
cattle,  more  and  more  horses,  a  larger  staff  of  both  men  and 
girls  became  necessary,  to  say  nothing  of  additional  imple- 
ments and  appliances,  and  the  increase  of  supervision  which 
left  the  Froments  little  rest.  Mathieu  controlled  the  agri- 
cultural part  of  the  enterprise,  ever  seeking  improved 
methods  for  drawing  from  the  earth  all  the  life  that  slum- 
bered within  it.  And  Marianne  watched  over  the  farm- 
yard, the  dairy,  the  poultry,  and  showed  herself  a  first-class 
accountant,  keeping  the  books,  and  receiving  and  paying 
money.  And  thus,  in  spite  of  recurring  worries,  strokes 
of  bad  luck  and  inevitable  mistakes,  fortune  smiled  on  them 
athwart  all  worries  and  losses,  so  brave  and  sensible  did  they 
prove  in  their  incessant  daily  struggle. 

Apart,  too,  from  the  new  buildings,  the  estate  was  increased 
by  five-and-seventy  acres  of  woodland,  and  five-and-seventy 
acres  of  sandy  sloping  soil.  Mathieu's  battle  with  those 
sandy  slopes  became  yet  keener,  more  and  more  heroic  as 
his  field  of  action  expanded ;  but  he  ended  by  conquering, 
by  fertilizing  them  yet  more  each  season,  thanks  to  the 
fructifying  springs  which  he  directed  through  them  upon 
every  side.  And  in  the  same  way  he  cut  broad  roads 
through  the  new  woods  which  he  purchased  on  the  pla- 
teau, in  order  to  increase  the  means  of  communication  and 
carry  into  effect  his  idea  of  using  the  clearings  as  pasture 


210  FRUITFULNESS 

for  his  cattle,  pending  the  time  when  he  might  largely 
devote  himself  to  stock-raising.  In  this  wise,  then,  the 
battle  went  on,  and  spread  incessantly  in  all  directions ; 
and  the  chances  of  decisive  victory  likewise  increased, 
compensation  for  possible  loss  on  one  side  being  found  on 
another  where  the  harvest  proved  prodigious. 

And,  like  the  estate,  the  children  also  grew.  Blaise  and 
Denis,  the  twins,  now  already  fourteen  years  of  age,  reaped 
prize  after  prize  at  school,  putting  their  younger  brother, 
Ambroise,  slightly  to  shame,  for  his  quick  and  ingenious 
mind  was  often  busy  with  other  matters  than  his  lessons. 
Gervais,  the  girls  Rose  and  Claire,  as  well  as  the  last-born 
boy,  little  Gregoire,  were  yet  too  young  to  be  trusted  alone 
in  Paris,  and  so  they  continued  growing  in  the  open  air  of 
the  country,  without  any  great  mishap  befalling  them.  And 
at  the  end  of  those  two  years  Marianne  gave  birth  to  her 
eighth  child,  this  time  a  girl,  named  Louise ;  and  when 
Mathieu  saw  her  smiling  with  the  dear  little  babe  in  her 
arms,  he  embraced  her  passionately,  and  triumphed  once 
again  over  every  sorrow  and  every  pang.  Yet  another 
child,  yet  more  wealth  and  power,  yet  an  additional  force 
born  into  the  world,  another  field  ready  for  to-morrow's 
harvest. 

And  'twas  ever  the  great  work,  the  good  work,  the  work 
of  fruitfulness  spreading,  thanks  to  the  earth  and  thanks  to 
woman,  both  victorious  over  destruction,  offering  fresh 
means  of  subsistence  each  time  a  fresh  child  was  born,  and 
loving,  willing,  battling,  toiling,  even  amid  suffering,  and 
ever  tending  to  increase  of  life  and  increase  of  hope. 
****** 

Then  two  more  years  rolled  on,  and  during  those  two 
years  Mathieu  and  Marianne  had  yet  another  child,  another 
daughter,  whom  they  called  Madeleine.  And  once  again 
the  estate  of  Chantebled  was  increased ;  this  time  by  all  the 
marshland  whose  ponds  and  whose  springs  remained  to  be 
drained  and  captured  on  the  west  of  the  plateau.  The 
whole  of  this  part  of  the  property  was  now  acquired  by  the 
Froments  —  two  hundred  acres  of  land  where,  hitherto,  only 


FRUITFULNESS  211 

water  plants  had  grown,  but  which  now  was  given  over  to 
cultivation,  and  yielded  abundant  crops.  And  the  new 
springs,  turned  into  canals  on  every  side,  again  carried  be- 
neficent life  to  the  sandy  slopes,  and  fertilized  them.  It 
was  life's  resistless  conquest ;  it  was  fruitfulness  spreading 
in  the  sunlight ;  it  was  labor  ever  incessantly  pursuing  its 
work  of  creation  amid  obstacles  and  suffering,  making  good 
all  losses,  and  at  each  succeeding  hour  setting  more  energy, 
more  health,  and  more  joy  in  the  veins  of  the  world. 

This  time  it  was  Seguin  himself  who  asked  Mathieu  to 
purchase  a  fresh  part  of  the  estate,  pressing  him  even  to 
take  all  that  was  left  of  it,  woods  and  moorland  —  extend- 
ing over  some  five  hundred  acres.  Nowadays  Seguin  was 
often  in  need  of  money,  and  in  order  to  do  business  he  off- 
ered Mathieu  lower  terms  and  all  sorts  of  advantages ;  but 
the  other  prudently  declined  the  proposals,  keeping  stead- 
fastly to  his  original  intentions,  which  were  that  he  would 
proceed  with  his  work  of  creation  step  by  step,  in  accord- 
ance with  his  exact  means  and  requirements.  Moreover,  a 
certain  difficulty  arose  with  regard  to  the  purchase  of  the 
remaining  moors,  for  enclosed  by  this  land,  eastward,  near 
the  railway  line,  were  a  few  acres  belonging  to  Lepailleur, 
the  miller,  who  had  never  done  anything  with  them.  And 
so  Mathieu  preferred  to  select  what  remained  of  the  marshy 
plateau,  adding,  however,  that  he  would  enter  into  negotia- 
tions respecting  the  moorland  later  on,  when  the  miller 
should  have  consented  to  sell  his  enclosure.  He  knew  that, 
ever  since  his  property  had  been  increasing,  Lepailleur  had 
regarded  him  with  the  greatest  jealousy  and  hatred,  and  he 
did  not  think  it  advisable  to  apply  to  him  personally,  certain 
as  he  felt  that  he  would  fail  in  his  endeavor.  Seguin,  how- 
ever, pretended  that  if  he  took  up  the  matter  he  would 
know  how  to  bring  the  miller  to  reason,  and  even  secure 
the  enclosure  for  next  to  nothing.  And  indeed,  thinking 
that  he  might  yet  induce  Mathieu  to  purchase  all  the  re- 
maining property,  he  determined  to  see  Lepailleur  and  nego- 
tiate with  him  before  even  signing  the  deed  which  was  to 
convey  to  Mathieu  the  selected  marshland  on  the  plateau. 


212  FRUITFULNESS 

But  the  outcome  proved  as  Mathieu  had  foreseen.  Le- 
pailleur  asked  such  a  monstrous  price  for  his  few  acres 
enclosed  within  the  estate  that  nothing  could  be  done. 
When  he  was  approached  on  the  subject  by  Seguin,  he 
made  little  secret  of  the  rage  he  felt  at  Mathieu's  triumph. 
He  had  told  the  young  man  that  he  would  never  succeed 
in  reaping  an  ear  of  wheat  from  that  uncultivated  expanse, 
given  over  to  brambles  for  centuries  past ;  and  yet  now  it 
was  covered  with  abundant  crops  !  And  this  had  increased 
the  miller's  rancor  against  the  soil ;  he  hated  it  yet  more 
than  ever  for  its  harshness  to  him,  a  peasant's  son,  and  its 
kindliness  towards  that  bourgeois,  who  seemed  to  have  fallen 
from  heaven  expressly  to  revolutionize  the  region.  Thus, 
in  answer  to  Seguin,  he  declared  with  a  sneer  that  since 
sorcerers  had  sprung  up  who  were  able  to  make  wheat  sprout 
from  stones,  his  patch  of  ground  was  now  worth  its  weight 
in  gold.  Several  years  previously,  no  doubt,  he  had  offered 
Seguin  the  enclosure  for  a  trifle;  but  times  had  changed, 
and  he  now  crowed  loudly  over  the  other's  folly  in  not 
entertaining  his  previous  offer. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  seemed  little  likelihood  of  his 
turning  the  enclosure  to  account  himself,  for  he  was  more 
disgusted  than  ever  with  the  tilling  of  the  soil.  His  dispo- 
sition had  been  further  embittered  by  the  birth  of  a  daughter, 
whom  he  would  willingly  have  dispensed  with,  anxious  as 
he  was  with  respect  to  his  son  Antonin,  now  a  lad  of  twelve, 
who  proved  so  sharp  and  quick  at  school  that  he  was  re- 
garded by  the  folks  of  Janville  as  a  little  prodigy.  Mathieu 
had  mortally  offended  the  father  and  mother  by  suggesting 
that  Antonin  should  be  sent  to  an  agricultural  college  —  a 
very  sensible  suggestion,  but  one  which  exasperated  them, 
determined  as  they  were  to  make  him  a  gentleman. 

As  Lepailleur  would  not  part  with  his  enclosure  on  any 
reasonable  terms,  Seguin  had  to  content  himself  for  the  time 
with  selling  Mathieu  the  selected  marshland  on  the  plateau. 
A  deed  of  conveyance  having  been  prepared,  they  exchanged 
signatures.  And  then,  on  Seguin's  hands,  there  still  re- 
mained nearly  two  hundred  and  fifty  acres  of  woods  in  the 


FRUITFULNESS  213 

direction  of  Lillebonne,  together  with  the  moorlands  stretch- 
ing to  Vieux-Bourg,  in  which  Lepailleur's  few  acres  were 
enclosed. 

It  was  on  the  occasion  of  the  visits  which  he  paid  Seguin 
in  reference  to  these  matters  that  Mathieu  became  acquainted 
with  the  terrible  break-up  of  the  other's  home.  The  very 
rooms  of  the  house  in  the  Avenue  d'Antin,  particularly  the 
once  sumptuous  "  cabinet,"  spoke  of  neglect  and  abandon- 
ment. The  desire  to  cut  a  figure  in  society,  and  to  carry 
the  "  fad "  of  the  moment  to  extremes,  ever  possessed 
Seguin  ;  and  thus  he  had  for  a  while  renounced  his  pre- 
tended artistic  tastes  for  certain  new  forms  of  sport  —  the 
motor-car  craze,  and  so  forth.  But  his  only  real  passion 
was  horseflesh,  and  to  this  he  at  last  returned.  A  racing 
stable  which  he  set  up  quickly  helped  on  his  ruin.  Women 
and  gaming  had  been  responsible  for  the  loss  of  part  of  his 
large  fortune,  and  now  horses  were  devouring  the  remainder. 
It  was  said,  too,  that  he  gambled  at  the  bourse,  in  the  hope 
of  recouping  himself  for  his  losses  on  the  turf,  and  by  way, 
too,  of  affecting  an  air  of  power  and  influence,  for  he  al- 
lowed it  to  be  supposed  that  he  obtained  information  direct 
from  members  of  the  Government.  And  as  his  losses 
increased  and  downfall  threatened  him,  all  that  remained  of 
the  bel  esprit  and  moralist,  once  so  prone  to  discuss  litera- 
ture and  social  philosophy  with  Santerre,  was  an  embittered, 
impotent  individual  —  one  who  had  proclaimed  himself  a 
pessimist  for  fashion's  sake,  and  was  now  caught  in  his  own 
trap ;  having  so  spoilt  his  existence  that  he  was  now  but  an 
artisan  of  corruption  and  death. 

All  was  disaster  in  his  home.  Celeste  the  maid  had  long 
since  been  dismissed,  and  the  children  were  now  in  the 
charge  of  a  certain  German  governess  called  Nora,  who 
virtually  ruled  the  house.  Her  position  with  respect  to 
Seguin  was  evident  to  one  and  all;  but  then,  what  of  Seguin's 
wife  and  Santerre  ?  The  worst  was,  that  this  horrible 
life,  which  seemed  to  be  accepted  on  either  side,  was  known 
to  the  children,  or,  at  all  events,  to  the  elder  daughter  Lucie, 
yet  scarcely  in  her  teens.  There  had  been  terrible  scenes 


2i4  FRUITFULNESS 

with  this  child,  who  evinced  a  mystical  disposition,  and  was 
ever  talking  of  becoming  a  nun  when  she  grew  up.  Gas- 
ton,  her  brother,  resembled  his  father ;  he  was  brutal  in  his 
ways,  narrow-minded,  supremely  egotistical.  Very  different 
was  the  little  girl  Andree,  whom  La  Catiche  had  suckled. 
She  had  become  a  pretty  child  —  so  affectionate,  docile,  and 
gay,  that  she  scarcely  complained  even  of  her  brother's 
teasing,  almost  bullying  ways.  "  What  a  pity,"  thought 
Mathieu,  "  that  so  lovable  a  child  should  have  to  grow  up 
amid  such  surroundings  !  " 

And  then  his  thoughts  turned  to  his  own  home  —  to 
Chantebled.  The  debts  contracted  at  the  outset  of  his 
enterprise  had  at  last  been  paid,  and  he  alone  was  now  the 
master  there,  resolved  to  have  no  other  partners  than  his 
wife  and  children.  It  was  for  each  of  his  children  that  he 
conquered  a  fresh  expanse  of  land.  That  estate  would  re- 
main their  home,  their  source  of  nourishment,  the  tie  link- 
ing them  together,  even  if  they  became  dispersed  through 
the  world  in  a  variety  of  social  positions.  And  thus  how 
decisive  was  that  growth  of  the  property,  the  acquisition  of 
that  last  lot  of  marshland  which  allowed  the  whole  plateau 
to  be  cultivated !  There  might  now  come  yet  another 
child,  for  there  would  be  food  for  him  ;  wheat  would  grow 
to  provide  him  with  daily  bread.  And  when  the  work  was 
finished,  when  the  last  springs  were  captured,  and  the  land 
had  been  drained  and  cleared,  how  prodigious  was  the 
scene  at  springtide  !  —  with  the  whole  expanse,  as  far  as  eye 
could  see,  one  mass  of  greenery,  full  of  the  promise  of  har- 
vest. Therein  was  compensation  for  every  tear,  every 
worry  and  anxiety  of  the  earlier  days  of  labor. 

Meantime  Mathieu,  amid  his  creative  work,  received 
Marianne's  gay  and  courageous  assistance.  And  she  was 
not  merely  a  skilful  helpmate,  taking  a  share  in  the  general 
management,  keeping  the  accounts,  and  watching  over  the 
home.  She  remained  both  a  loving  and  well-loved  spouse, 
and  a  mother  who  nursed,  reared,  and  educated  her  little 
ones  in  order  to  give  them  some  of  her  own  sense  and 
heart.  As  Boutan  remarked,  it  is  not  enough  for  a  woman 


FRUITFULNESS  215 

to  have  a  child  ;  she  should  also  possess  healthy  moral  gifts 
in  order  that  she  may  bring  it  up  in  creditable  fashion. 
Marianne,  for  her  part,  made  it  her  pride  to  obtain  every- 
thing from  her  children  by  dint  of  gentleness  and  grace. 
She  was  listened  to,  obeyed,  and  worshipped  by  them, 
because  she  was  so  beautiful,  so  kind,  and  so  greatly  be- 
loved. Her  task  was  scarcely  easy,  since  she  had  eight 
children  already  ;  but  in  all  things  she  proceeded  in  a  very 
orderly  fashion,  utilizing  the  elder  to  watch  over  the  younger 
ones,  giving  each  a  little  share  of  loving  authority,  and 
extricating  herself  from  every  embarrassment  by  setting 
truth  and  justice  above  one  and  all.  Blaise  and  Denis,  the 
twins,  who  were  now  sixteen,  and  Ambroise,  who  was 
nearly  fourteen,  did  in  a  measure  escape  her  authority, 
being  largely  in  their  father's  hands.  But  around  her  she 
had  the  five  others  —  from  Rose,  who  was  eleven,  to  Louise, 
who  was  two  years  old ;  between  them,  at  intervals  of  a 
couple  of  years,  coming  Gervais,  Claire,  and  Gregoire. 
And  each  time  that  one  flew  away,  as  it  were,  feeling  his 
wings  strong  enough  for  flight,  there  appeared  another  to 
nestle  beside  her.  And  it  was  again  a  daughter,  Madeleine, 
who  came  at  the  expiration  of  those  two  years.  And  when 
Mathieu  saw  his  wife  erect  and  smiling  again,  with  the 
dear  little  girl  at  her  breast,  he  embraced  her  passionately 
and  triumphed  once  again  over  every  sorrow  and  every 
pang.  Yet  another  child,  yet  more  wealth  and  power,  yet 
an  additional  force  born  into  the  world,  another  field  ready 
for  to-morrow's  harvest. 

And  'twas  ever  the  great  work,  the  good  work,  the  work 
of  fruitfulness  spreading,  thanks  to  the  earth  and  thanks  to 
woman,  both  victorious  over  destruction,  offering  fresh 

'  O 

means  of  subsistence  each  time  a  fresh  child  was  born,  and 
loving,  willing,  battling,  toiling  even  amid  suffering,  and 
ever  tending  to  increase  of  life  and  increase  of  hope. 


XIII 

Two  more  years  went  by,  and  during  those  two  years 
Mathieu  and  Marianne  had  yet  another  daughter;  and  this 
time,  as  the  family  increased,  Chantebled  also  was  increased 
by  all  the  woodland  extending  eastward  of  the  plateau  to  the 
distant  farms  of  Mareuil  and  Lillebonne.  All  the  northern 
part  of  the  property  was  thus  acquired :  more  than  five 
hundred  acres  of  woods,  intersected  by  clearings  which 
roads  soon  connected  together.  And  those  clearings,  trans- 
formed into  pasture-land,  watered  by  the  neighboring  springs, 
enabled  Mathieu  to  treble  his  live-stock  and  attempt  cattle- 
raising  on  a  large  scale.  It  was  the  resistless  conquest  of 
life,  it  was  fruitfulness  spreading  in  the  sunlight,  it  was 
labor  ever  incessantly  pursuing  its  work  of  creation  amid 
obstacles  and  suffering,  making  good  all  losses,  and  at  each 
succeeding  hour  setting  more  energy,  more  health,  and 
more  joy  in  the  veins  of  the  world. 

Since  the  Froments  had  become  conquerors,  busily 
founding  a  little  kingdom  and  building  up  a  substantial 
fortune  in  land,  the  Beauchenes  no  longer  derided  them 
respecting  what  they  had  once  deemed  their  extravagant 
idea  in  establishing  themselves  in  the  country.  Astonished 
and  anticipating  now  the  fullest  success,  they  treated  them 
as  well-to-do  relatives,  and  occasionally  visited  them,  de- 
lighted with  the  aspect  of  that  big,  bustling  farm,  so  full  of 
life  and  prosperity.  It  was  in  the  course  of  these  visits 
that  Constance  renewed  her  intercourse  with  her  former 
schoolfellow,  Madame  Angelin,  the  Froments'  neighbor. 
A  great  change  had  come  over  the  Angelins ;  they  had 
ended  by  purchasing  a  little  house  at  the  end  of  the  village, 
where  they  invariably  spent  the  summer,  but  their  buoyant 

216 


FRUITFULNESS  217 

happiness  seemed  to  have  departed.  They  had  long  desired 
to  remain  unburdened  by  children,  and  now  they  eagerly 
longed  to  have  a  child,  and  none  came,  though  Claire,  the 

O  *  '  O  * 

wife,  was  as  yet  but  six-and-thirty.  Her  husband,  the 
once  gay,  handsome  musketeer,  was  already  turning  gray 
and  losing  his  eyesight — to  such  a  degree,  indeed,  that  he 
could  scarcely  see  well  enough  to  continue  his  profession 
as  a  fan-painter. 

When  Madame  Angelin  went  to  Paris  she  often  called 
on  Constance,  to  whom,  before  long,  she  confided  all  her 
worries.  She  had  been  in  a  doctor's  hands  for  three  years, 
but  all  to  no  avail,  and  now  during  the  last  six  months  she 
had  been  consulting  a  person  in  the  Rue  de  Miromesnil,  a 
certain  Madame  Bourdieu,  said  she. 

Constance  at  first  made  light  of  her  friend's  statements, 
and  in  part  declined  to  believe  her.  But  when  she  found 
herself  alone  she  felt  disquieted  by  what  she  had  heard. 
Perhaps  she  would  have  treated  the  matter  as  mere  idle 
tittle-tattle,  if  she  had  not  already  regretted  that  she  herself 
had  no  second  child.  On  the  day  when  the  unhappy 
Morange  had  lost  his  only  daughter,  and  had  remained 
stricken  down,  utterly  alone  in  life,  she  had  experienced 
a  vague  feeling  of  anguish.  Since  that  supreme  loss  the 
wretched  accountant  had  been  living  on  in  a  state  of 
imbecile  stupefaction,  simply  discharging  his  duties  in  a 
mechanical  sort  of  way  from  force  of  habit.  Scarcely 
speaking,  but  showing  great  gentleness  of  manner,  he 
lived  as  one  who  was  stranded,  fated  to  remain  forever  at 
Beauchene's  works,  where  his  salary  had  now  risen  to  eight 
thousand  francs  a  year.  It  was  not  known  what  he  did 
with  this  amount,  which  was  considerable  for  a  man  who 
led  such  a  narrow  regular  life,  free  from  expenses  and  fan- 
cies outside  his  home  —  that  flat  which  was  much  too  big 
for  him,  but  which  he  had,  nevertheless,  obstinately  retained, 
shutting  himself  up  therein,  and  leading  a  most  misanthropic 
life  in  fierce  solitude. 

It  was  his  grievous  prostration  which  had  at  one  moment 
quite  upset  and  affected  Constance,  so  that  she  had  even 


218  FRUITFULNESS 

sobbed  with  the  desolate  man  —  she  whose  tears  flowed  so 
seldom  !  No  doubt  a  thought  that  she  might  have  had 
other  children  than  Maurice  came  back  to  her  in  certain 
bitter  hours  of  unconscious  self-examination,  when  from 
the  depths  of  her  being,  in  which  feelings  of  motherliness 
awakened,  there  rose  vague  fear,  sudden  dread,  such  as 
she  had  never  known  before. 

Yet  Maurice,  her  son,  after  a  delicate  youth  which  had 
necessitated  great  care,  was  now  a  handsome  fellow  of 
nineteen,  still  somewhat  pale,  but  vigorous  in  appearance. 
He  had  completed  his  studies  in  a  fairly  satisfactory  manner, 
and  was  already  helping  his  father  in  the  management  of  the 
works.  And  his  adoring  mother  had  never  set  higher  hopes 
upon  his  head.  She  already  pictured  him  as  the  master  of 
that  great  establishment,  whose  prosperity  he  would  yet 
increase,  thereby  rising  to  royal  wealth  and  power. 

Constance's  worship  for  that  only  son,  to-morrow's  hero, 
increased  the  more  since  'his  father  day  by  day  declined  in 
her  estimation,  till  she  regarded  him  in  fact  with  naught  but 
contempt  and  disgust.  It  was  a  logical  downfall,  which  she 
could  not  stop,  and  the  successive  phases  of  which  she  her- 
self fatally  precipitated.  At  the  outset  she  had  overlooked 
his  infidelity ;  then  from  a  spirit  of  duty  and  to  save  him 
from  irreparable  folly  she  had  sought  to  retain  him  near 
her;  and  finally,  failing  in  her  endeavor,  she  had  begun  to 
feel  loathing  and  disgust.  He  was  now  two-and-forty,  he 
drank  too  much,  he  ate  too  much,  he  smoked  too  much. 
He  was  growing  corpulent  and  scant  of  breath,  with  hang- 
ing lips  and  heavy  eyelids ;  he  no  longer  took  care  of  his 
person  as  formerly,  but  went  about  slipshod,  and  indulged 
in  the  coarsest  pleasantries.  But  it  was  more  particularly 
away  from  his  home  that  he  sank  into  degradation,  indulging 
in  the  low  debauchery  which  had  ever  attracted  him.  Every 
now  and  again  he  disappeared  from  the  house  and  slept 
elsewhere ;  then  he  concocted  such  ridiculous  falsehoods 
that  he  could  not  be  believed,  or  else  did  not  take  the 
trouble  to  lie  at  all.  Constance,  who  felt  powerless  to 
influence  him,  ended  by  allowing  him  complete  freedom. 


FRUITFULNESS  219 

The  worst  was,  that  the  dissolute  life  he  led  grievously 
affected  the  business.  He  who  had  been  such  a  great  and 
energetic  worker  had  lost  both  mental  and  bodily  vigor; 
he  could  no  longer  plan  remunerative  strokes  of  business ; 
he  no  longer  had  the  strength  to  undertake  important  con- 
tracts. He  lingered  in  bed  in  the  morning,  and  remained 
for  three  or  four  days  without  once  going  round  the  works, 
letting  disorder  and  waste  accumulate  there,  so  that  his  once 
triumphal  stock-takings  now  year  by  year  showed  a  falling- 
off.  And  what  an  end  it  was  for  that  egotist,  that  enjoyer, 
so  gayly  and  noisily  active,  who  had  always  professed  that 
money  —  capital  increased  tenfold  by  the  labor  of  others  — 
was  the  only  desirable  source  of  power,  and  whom  excess 
of  money  and  excess  of  enjoyment  now  cast  with  appro- 
priate irony  to  slow  ruin,  the  final  paralysis  of  the  impotent. 
But  a  supreme  blow  was  to  fall  on  Constance  and  fill 
her  with  horror  of  her  husband.  Some  anonymous  letters, 
the  low,  treacherous  revenge  of  a  dismissed  servant,  apprised 
her  of  Beauchene's  former  intrigue  with  Norine,  that  work- 
girl  who  had  given  birth  to  a  boy,  spirited  away  none  knew 
whither.  Though  ten  years  had  elapsed  since  that  occur- 
rence, Constance  could  not  think  of  it  without  a  feeling  of 
revolt.  Whither  had  that  child  been  sent  ?  Was  he  still 
alive  ?  What  ignominious  existence  was  he  leading  ?  She 
was  vaguely  jealous  of  the  boy.  The  thought  that  her  hus- 
band had  two  sons  and  she  but  one  was  painful  to  her,  now 
that  all  her  motherly  nature  was  aroused.  But  she  devoted 
herself  yet  more  ardently  to  her  fondly  loved  Maurice ;  she 
made  a  demi-god  of  him,  and  for  his  sake  even  sacrificed 
her  just  rancor.  She  indeed  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
must  not  suffer  from  his  father's  indignity,  and  so  it  was 
for  him  that,  with  extraordinary  strength  of  will,  she  ever 
preserved  a  proud  demeanor,  feigning  that  she  was  ignorant 
of  everything,  never  addressing  a  reproach  to  her  husband, 
but  remaining,  in  the  presence  of  others,  the  same  respect- 
ful wife  as  formerly.  And  even  when  they  were  alone 
together  she  kept  silence  and  avoided  explanations  and  quar- 
rels. Never  even  thinking  of  the  possibility  of  revenge, 


220  FRUITFULNESS 

she  seemed,  in  the  presence  of  her  husband's  profligacy,  to 
attach  herself  more  firmly  to  her  home,  clinging  to  her  son, 
and  protected  by  him  from  thought  of  evil  as  much  as  by  her 
own  sternness  of  heart  and  principles.  And  thus  sorely 
wounded,  full  of  repugnance  but  hiding  her  contempt,  she 
awaited  the  triumph  of  that  son  who  would  purify  and  save 
the  house,  feeling  the  greatest  faith  in  his  strength,  and  quite 
surprised  and  anxious  whenever,  all  at  once,  without  reason- 
able cause,  a  little  quiver  from  the  unknown  brought  her  a 
chill,  affecting  her  heart  as  with  remorse  for  some  long-past 
fault  which  she  no  longer  remembered. 

That  little  quiver  came  back  while  she  listened  to  all  that 
Madame  Angelin  confided  to  her.  And  at  last  she  became 
quite  interested  in  her  friend's  case,  and  offered  to  accom- 
pany her  some  day  when  she  might  be  calling  on  Madame 
Bourdieu.  In  the  end  they  arranged  to  meet  one  Thursday 
afternoon  for  the  purpose  of  going  together  to  the  Rue  de 
Miromesnil. 

As  it  happened,  that  same  Thursday,  about  two  o'clock, 
Mathieu,  who  had  come  to  Paris  to  see  about  a  threshing- 
machine  at  Beauchene's  works,  was  quietly  walking  along 
the  Rue  La  Boetie  when  he  met  Cecile  Moineaud,  who  was 
carrying  a  little  parcel  carefully  tied  round  with  string.  She 
was  now  nearly  twenty-one,  but  had  remained  slim,  pale, 
and  weak,  since  passing  through  the  hands  of  Dr.  Gaude. 
Mathieu  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  her  during  the  few 
months  she  had  spent  as  a  servant  at  Chantebled  ;  and  later, 
knowing  what  had  befallen  her  at  the  hospital,  he  had 
regarded  her  with  deep  compassion.  He  had  busied  himself 
to  find  her  easy  work,  and  a  friend  of  his  had  given  her 
some  cardboard  boxes  to  paste  together,  the  only  employ- 
ment that  did  not  tire  her  thin  weak  hands.  So  childish 
had  she  remained  that  one  would  have  taken  her  for  a  young 
girl  suddenly  arrested  in  her  growth.  Yet  her  slender  fin- 
gers were  skilful,  and  she  contrived  to  earn  some  two  francs 
a  day  in  making  the  little  boxes.  And  as  she  suffered 
greatly  at  her  parents'  home,  tortured  by  her  brutal  sur- 
roundings there,  and  robbed  of  her  earnings  week  by  week, 


FRUITFULNESS  221 

her  dream  was  to  secure  a  home  of  her  own,  to  find  a  little 
money  that  would  enable  her  to  install  herself  in  a  room 
where  she  might  live  in  peace  and  quietness.  It  had  oc- 
curred to  Mathieu  to  give  her  a  pleasant  surprise  some  day 
by  supplying  her  with  the  small  sum  she  needed. 

"  Where  are  you  running  so  fast  ?  "  he  gayly  asked  her. 

The  meeting  seemed  to  take  her  aback,  and  she  answered 
in  an  evasive,  embarrassed  way  :  "  I  am  going  to  the  Rue  de 
Miromesnil  for  a  call  I  have  to  make." 

Noticing  his  kindly  air,  however,  she  soon  told  him  the 
truth.  Her  sister,  that  poor  creature  Norine,  had  just  given 
birth  to  another  child,  her  third,  at  Madame  Bourdieu's  estab- 
lishment. A  gentleman  who  had  been  protecting  her  had 
cast  her  adrift,  and  she  had  been  obliged  to  sell  her  few  sticks 
of  furniture  in  order  to  get  together  a  couple  of  hundred 
francs,  and  thus  secure  admittance  to  Madame  Bourdieu's 
house,  for  the  mere  idea  of  having  to  go  to  a  hospital  terri- 
fied her.  Whenever  she  might  be  able  to  get  about  again, 
however,  she  would  find  herself  in  the  streets,  with  the  task 
of  beginning  life  anew  at  one-and-thirty  years  of  age. 

"  She  never  behaved  unkindly  to  me,"  resumed  Cecile. 
"  I  pity  her  with  all  my  heart,  and  I  have  been  to  see  her. 
I  am  taking  her  a  little  chocolate  now.  Ah !  if  you  only 
saw  her  little  boy  !  he  is  a  perfect  love  !  " 

The  poor  girl's  eyes  shone,  and  her  thin,  pale  face 
became  radiant  with  a  smile.  The  instinct  of  maternity 
remained  keen  within  her,  though  she  could  never  be  a 
mother. 

"  What  a  pity  it  is,"  she  continued,  "  that  Norine  is  so 
obstinately  determined  on  getting  rid  of  the  baby,  just  as 
she  got  rid  of  the  others.  This  little  fellow,  it's  true, 
cries  so  much  that  she  has  had  to  give  him  the  breast. 
But  it's  only  for  the  time  being  •*  she  says  that  she  can't  see 
him  starve  while  he  remains  near  her.  But  it  quite  upsets 
me  to  think  that  one  can  get  rid  of  one's  children  ;  I  had 
an  idea  of  arranging  things  very  differently.  You  know 
that  I  want  to  leave  my  parents,  don't  you  ?  Well,  I 
thought  of  renting  a  room  and  of  taking  my  sister  and  her 


222  FRUITFULNESS 

little  boy  with  me.  I  would  show  Norine  how  to  cut  out 
and  paste  up  those  little  boxes,  and  we  might  live,  all 
three,  happily  together." 

"  And  won't  she  consent  ?  "  asked  Mathieu. 

11  Oh !  she  told  me  that  I  was  mad ;  and  there's  some 
truth  in  that,  for  I  have  no  money  even  to  rent  a  room. 
Ah  !  if  you  only  knew  how  it  distresses  me." 

Mathieu  concealed  his  emotion,  and  resumed  in  his  quiet 
way :  "  Well,  there  are  rooms  to  be  rented.  And  you 
would  find  a  friend  to  help  you.  Only  I  am  much  afraid 
that  you  will  never  persuade  your  sister  to  keep  her  child, 
for  I  fancy  that  I  know  her  ideas  on  that  subject.  A 
miracle  would  be  needed  to  change  them." 

Quick-witted  as  she  was,  Cecile  darted  a  glance  at  him. 
The  friend  he  spoke  of  was  himself.  Good  heavens ! 
would  her  dream  come  true  ?  She  ended  by  bravely  say- 
ing :  "  Listen,  monsieur ;  you  are  so  kind  that  you  really 
ought  to  do  me  a  last  favor.  It  would  be  to  come  with 
me  and  see  Norine  at  once.  You  alone  can  talk  to  her 
and  prevail  on  her  perhaps.  But  let  us  walk  slowly,  for  I 
am  stifling,  I  feel  so  happy." 

Mathieu,  deeply  touched,  walked  on  beside  her.  They 
turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Miromesnil,  and  his  own 
heart  began  to  beat  as  they  climbed  the  stairs  of  Madame 
Bourdieu's  establishment.  Ten  years  ago  !  Was  it  possi- 
ble ?  He  recalled  everything  that  he  had  seen  and  heard 
in  that  house.  And  it  all  seemed  to  date  from  yesterday, 
for  the  building  had  not  changed ;  indeed,  he  fancied  that 
he  could  recognize  the  very  grease-spots  on  the  doors  on 
the  various  landings. 

Following  Cecile  to  Norine's  room,  he  found  Norine  up 
and  dressed,  but  seated  at  the  side  of  her  bed  and  nursing 
her  babe. 

"What!  is  it  you,  monsieur?  "  she  exclaimed,  as  soon 
as  she  recognized  her  visitor.  "  It  is  very  kind  of  Cecile 
to  have  brought  you.  Ah  !  man  Dieu  what  a  lot  of  things 
have  happened  since  I  last  saw  you  !  We  are  none  of  us 
any  the  younger." 


FRUITFULNESS  223 

He  scrutinized  her,  and  she  did  indeed  seem  to  him 
much  aged.  She  was  one  of  those  blondes  who  fade 
rapidly  after  their  thirtieth  year.  Still,  if  her  face  had 
become  pasty  and  wore  a  weary  expression,  she  remained 
pleasant-looking,  and  seemed  as  heedless,  as  careless  as 
ever. 

Cecile  wished  to  bring  matters  to  the  point  at  once. 
"  Here  is  your  chocolate,"  she  began.  "  I  met  Monsieur 
Froment  in  the  street,  and  he  is  so  kind  and  takes  so  much 
interest  in  me  that  he  is  willing  to  help  me  in  carrying  out 
my  idea  of  renting  a  room  where  you  might  live  and  work 
with  me.  So  I  begged  him  to  come  up  here  and  talk  with 
you,  and  prevail  on  you  to  keep  that  poor  little  fellow  of 
yours.  You  see,  I  don't  want  to  take  you  unawares ;  I 
warn  you  in  advance." 

Norine  started  with  emotion,  and  began  to  protest. 
"What  is  all  this  again  ?  "  said  she.  "  No,  no,  I  don't  want 
to  be  worried.  I'm  too  unhappy  as  it  is." 

But  Mathieu  immediately  intervened,  and  made  her 
understand  that  if  she  reverted  to  the  life  she  had  been 
leading  she  would  simply  sink  lower  and  lower.  She  her- 
self had  no  illusions  on  that  point ;  she  spoke  bitterly 
enough  of  her  experiences.  Her  youth  had  flown,  her 
good-looks  were  departing,  and  the  prospect  seemed  hope- 
less enough.  But  then  what  could  she  do  ?  When  one 
had  fallen  into  the  mire  one  had  to  stay  there. 

"  Ah  !  yes,  ah  !  yes,"  said  she ;  "  I've  had  enough  of 
that  infernal  life  which  some  folks  think  so  amusing.  But 
it's  like  a  stone  round  my  neck ;  I  can't  get  rid  of  it.  I 
shall  have  to  keep  to  it  till  I'm  picked  up  in  some  corner 
and  carried  off  to  die  at  a  hospital." 

She  spoke  these  words  with  the  fierce  energy  of  one  who 
all  at  once  clearly  perceives  the  fate  which  she  cannot  es- 
cape. Then  she  glanced  at  her  infant,  who  was  still  nurs- 
ing. "  He  had  better  go  his  way  and  I'll  go  mine,"  she 
added.  "  Then  we  shan't  inconvenience  one  another." 

This  time  her  voice  softened,  and  an  expression  of  infi- 
nite tenderness  passed  over  her  desolate  face.  And  Mathieu, 


224  FRUITFULNESS 

in  astonishment,  divining  the  new  emotion  that  possessed 
her,  though  she  did  not  express  it,  made  haste  to  rejoin  : 
"  To  let  him  go  his  way  would  be  the  shortest  way  to  kill 
him,  now  that  you  have  begun  to  give  him  the  breast." 

"  Is  it  my  fault  ?  "  she  angrily  exclaimed.  "  I  didn't  want 
to  give  it  to  him ;  you  know  what  my  ideas  were.  And  I 
flew  into  a  passion  and  almost  fought  Madame  Bourdieu 
when  she  put  him  in  my  arms.  But  then  how  could  I 
hold  out?  He  cried  so  dreadfully  with  hunger,  poor  little 
mite,  and  seemed  to  suffer  so  much,  that  I  was  weak  enough 
to  let  him  nurse  just  a  little.  I  didn't  intend  to  repeat  it, 
but  the  next  day  he  cried  again,  and  so  I  had  to  continue, 
worse  luck  for  me  !  There  was  no  pity  shown  me ;  I've 
been  made  a  hundred  times  more  unhappy  than  I  should 
have  been,  for,  of  course,  I  shall  soon  have  to  get  rid  of 
him  as  I  got  rid  of  the  others." 

Tears  appeared  in  her  eyes.  It  was  the  oft-recurring 
story  of  the  girl-mother  who  is  prevailed  upon  to  nurse  her 
child  for  a  few  days,  in  the  hope  that  she  will  grow  attached 
to  the  babe  and  be  unable  to  part  from  it.  The  chief  object 
in  view  is  to  save  the  child,  because  its  best  nurse  is  its 
natural  nurse,  the  mother.  And  Norine,  instinctively 
divining  the  trap  set  for  her,  had  struggled  to  escape  it,  and 
repeated,  sensibly  enough,  that  one  ought  not  to  begin  such 
a  task  when  one  meant  to  throw  it  up  in  a  few  days'  time. 
As  soon  as  she  yielded  she  was  certain  to  be  caught ;  her 
egotism  was  bound  to  be  vanquished  by  the  wave  of  pity, 
love,  and  hope  that  would  sweep  through  her  heart.  The 
poor,  pale,  puny  infant  had  weighed  but  little  the  first  time 
he  took  the  breast.  But  every  morning  afterwards  he  had 
been  weighed  afresh,  and  on  the  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  bed 
had  been  hung  the  diagram  indicating  the  daily  difference 
of  weight.  At  first  Norine  had  taken  little  interest  in  the 
matter,  but  as  the  line  gradually  ascended,  plainly  indicating 
how  much  the  child  was  profiting,  she  gave  it  more  and 
more  attention.  All  at  once,  as  the  result  of  an  indisposi- 
tion, the  line  had  dipped  down ;  and  since  then  she  had 
always  feverishly  awaited  the  weighing,  eager  to  see  if  the 


FRUITFULNESS  225 

line  would  once  more  ascend.  Then,  a  continuous  rise 
having  set  in,  she  laughed  with  delight.  That  little  line,, 
which  ever  ascended,  told  her  that  her  child  was  saved,  and 
that  all  the  weight  and  strength  he  acquired  was  derived 
from  her  —  from  her  milk,  her  blood,  her  flesh.  She  was 
completing  the  appointed  work ;  and  motherliness,  at  last 
awakened  within  her,  was  blossoming  in  a  florescence  of 
love. 

"  If  you  want  to  kill  him,"  continued  Mathieu,  "  you 
need  only  take  him  from  your  breast.  See  how  eagerly  the 
poor  little  fellow  is  nursing  !  " 

This  was  indeed  true.  And  Norine  burst  into  big  sobs : 
"Mon  Dieu  !  you  are  beginning  to  torture  me  again.  Do 
you  think  that  I  shall  take  any  pleasure  in  getting  rid  of  him 
now  ?  You  force  me  to  say  things  which  make  me  weep 
at  night  when  I  think  of  them.  I  shall  feel  as  if  my  very 
vitals  were  being  torn  out  when  this  child  is  taken  from 
me  !  There,  are  you  both  pleased  that  you  have  made  me 
say  it  ?  But  what  good  does  it  do  to  put  me  in  such  a 
state,  since  nobody  can  remedy  things,  and  he  must  needs 
go  to  the  foundlings,  while  I  return  to  the  gutter,  to  wait 
for  the  broom  that's  to  sweep  me  away  ?  " 

But  Cecile,  who  likewise  was  weeping,  kissed  and  kissed 
the  child,  and  again  reverted  to  her  dream,  explaining  how 
happy  they  would  be,  all  three  of  them,  in  a  nice  room, 
which  she  pictured  full  of  endless  joys,  like  some  Paradise. 
It  was  by  no  means  difficult  to  cut  out  and  paste  up  the 
little  boxes.  As  soon  as  Norine  should  know  the  work, 
she,  who  was  strong,  might  perhaps  earn  three  francs  a  day 
at  it.  And  five  francs  a  day  between  them,  would  not  that 
mean  fortune,  the  rearing  of  the  child,  and  all  evil  things 
forgotten,  at  an  end  ?  Norine,  more  weary  than  ever,  gave 
way  at  last,  and  ceased  refusing. 

"  You  daze  me,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  know.  Do  as  you 
like  —  but  certainly  it  will  be  great  happiness  to  keep  this 
dear  little  fellow  with  me." 

Cecile,  enraptured,  clapped  her  hands ;  while  Mathieu, 
who  was  greatly  moved,  gave  utterance  to  these  deeply  sig- 


226  FRUITFULNESS 

nificant  words :  "You  have  saved  him,  and  now  he  saves 
you." 

Then  Norine  at  last  smiled.  She  felt  happy  now ;  a 
great  weight  had  been  lifted  from  her  heart.  And  carrying 
her  child  in  her  arms  she  insisted  on  accompanying  her  sis- 
ter and  their  friend  to  the  first  floor. 

During  the  last  half-hour  Constance  and  Madame 
Angelin  had  been  deep  in  consultation  with  Madame 
Bourdieu.  The  former  had  not  given  her  name,  but  had 
simply  played  the  part  of  an  obliging  friend  accompany- 
ing another  on  an  occasion  of  some  delicacy.  Madame 
Bourdieu,  with  the  keen  scent  characteristic  of  her  pro- 
fession, divined  a  possible  customer  in  that  inquisitive  lady 
who  put  such  strange  questions  to  her.  However,  a 
rather  painful  scene  took  place,  for  realizing  that  she 
could  not  forever  deceive  Madame  Angelin  with  false 
hopes,  Madame  Bourdieu  decided  to  tell  the  truth  —  her 
case  was  hopeless.  Constance,  however,  at  last  made 
a  sign  to  entreat  her  to  continue  deceiving  her  friend,  if 
only  for  charity's  sake.  The  other,  therefore,  while  con- 
ducting her  visitors  to  the  landing,  spoke  a  few  hopeful 
words  to  Madame  Angelin  :  "  After  all,  dear  madame," 
said  she,  "  one  must  never  despair.  I  did  wrong  to  speak 
as  I  did  just  now.  I  may  yet  be  mistaken.  Come  back 
to  see  me  again." 

At  this  moment  Mathieu  and  Cecile  were  still  on  the 
landing  in  conversation  with  Norine,  whose  infant  had 
fallen  asleep  in  her  arms.  Constance  and  Madame  Angelin 
were  so  surprised  at  finding  the  farmer  of  Chantebled  in 
the  company  of  the  two  young  women  that  they  pretended 
they  did  not  see  him.  All  at  once,  however,  Constance, 
with  the  help  of  memory,  recognized  Norine,  the  more 
readily  perhaps  as  she  was  now  aware  that  Mathieu  had, 
ten  years  previously,  acted  as  her  husband's  intermediary. 
And  a  feeling  of  revolt  and  the  wildest  fancies  instantly 
arose  within  her.  What  was  Mathieu  doing  in  that  house  ? 
whose  child  was  it  that  the  young  woman  carried  in  her 
arms  ?  At  that  moment  the  other  child  seemed  to  peer 


FRUITFULNESS  227 

forth  from  the  past ;  she  saw  it  in  swaddling  clothes,  like 
the  infant  there ;  indeed,  she  almost  confounded  one  with 
the  other,  and  imagined  that  it  was  indeed  her  husband's 
illegitimate  son  that  was  sleeping  in  his  mother's  arms 
before  her.  Then  all  the  satisfaction  she  had  derived  from 
what  she  had  heard  Madame  Bourdieu  say  departed,  and 
she  went  off  furious  and  ashamed,  as  if  soiled  and  threatened 
by  all  the  vague  abominations  which  she  had  for  some  time 
felt  around  her,  without  knowing,  however,  whence  came 
the  little  chill  which  made  her  shudder  as  with  dread. 

As  for  Mathieu,  he  saw  that  neither  Norine  nor  Cecile 
had  recognized  Madame  Beauchene  under  her  veil,  and  so 
he  quietly  continued  explaining  to  the  former  that  he  would 
take  steps  to  secure  for  her  from  the  Assistance  Publique 
—  the  official  organization  for  the  relief  of  the  poor  —  a 
cradle  and  a  supply  of  baby  linen,  as  well  as  immediate 
pecuniary  succor,  since  she  undertook  to  keep  and  nurse 
her  child.  Afterwards  he  would  obtain  for  her  an  allow- 
ance of  thirty  francs  a  month  for  at  least  one  year.  This 
would  greatly  help  the  sisters,  particularly  in  the  earlier 
stages  of  their  life  together  in  the  room  which  they  had 
settled  to  rent.  When  Mathieu  added  that  he  would  take 
upon  himself  the  preliminary  outlay  of  a  little  furniture  and 
so  forth,  Norine  insisted  upon  kissing  him. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  with  a  good  heart,"  said  she.  "  It  does  one 
good  to  meet  a  man  like  you.  And  come,  kiss  my  poor 
little  fellow,  too  ;  it  will  bring  him  good  luck." 

On  reaching  the  Rue  La  Boe'tie  it  occurred  to  Mathieu, 
who  was  bound  for  the  Beauchene  works,  to  take  a  cab 
and  let  Cecile  alight  near  her  parents'  home,  since  it  was 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  factory.  But  she  explained  to 
him  that  she  wished,  first  of  all,  to  call  upon  her  sister 
Euphrasie  in  the  Rue  Caroline.  This  street  was  in  the 
same  direction,  and  so  Mathieu  made  her  get  into  the 
cab,  telling  her  that  he  would  set  her  down  at  her  sister's 
door. 

She  was  so  amazed,  so  happy  at  seeing  her  dream  at  last 
on  the  point  of  realization,  that  as  she  sat  in  the  cab  by 


228  FRUITFULNESS 

the  side  of  Mathieu  she  did  not  know  how  to  thank  him. 
Her  eyes  were  quite  moist,  all  smiles  and  tears. 

"You  must  not  think  me  a  bad  daughter,  monsieur," 
said  she,  "  because  I'm  so  pleased  to  leave  home.  Papa 
still  works  as  much  as  he  is  able,  though  he  does  not  get 
much  reward  for  it  at  the  factory.  And  mamma  does  all 
she  can  at  home,  though  she  hasn't  much  strength  left  her 
nowadays.  Since  Victor  came  back  from  the  army,  he  has 
married  and  has  children  of  his  own,  and  I'm  even  afraid 
that  he'll  have  more  than  he  can  provide  for,  as,  while  he 
was  in  the  army,  he  seems  to  have  lost  all  taste  for  work. 
But  the  sharpest  of  the  family  is  that  lazy-bones  Irma, 
my  younger  sister,  who's  so  pretty  and  so  delicate-looking, 
perhaps  because  she's  always  ill.  As  you  may  remember, 
mamma  used  to  fear  that  Irma  might  turn  out  badly  like 
Norine.  Well,  not  at  all !  Indeed,  she's  the  only  one  of 
us  who  is  likely  to  do  well,  for  she's  going  to  marry  a  clerk 
in  the  post-office.  And  so  the  only  ones  left  at  home  are 
myself  and  Alfred.  Oh  !  he  is  a  perfect  bandit !  That  is 
the  plain  truth.  He  committed  a  theft  the  other  day,  and 
one  had  no  end  of  trouble  to  get  him  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
police  commissary.  But  all  the  same,  mamma  has  a  weak- 
ness for  him,  and  lets  him  take  all  my  earnings.  Yes,  indeed, 
I've  had  quite  enough  of  him,  especially  as  he  is  always 
terrifying  me  out  of  my  wits,  threatening  to  beat  and  even 
kill  me,  though  he  well  knows  that  ever  since  my  illness 
the  slightest  noise  throws  me  into  a  faint.  And  as,  all 
considered,  neither  papa  nor  mamma  needs  me,  it's  quite 
excusable,  isn't  it,  that  I  should  prefer  living  quietly  alone. 
It  is  my  right,  is  it  not,  monsieur  ? " 

She  went  on  to  speak  of  her  sister  Euphrasie,  who  had 
fallen  into  a  most  wretched  condition,  said  she,  ever  since 
passing  through  Dr.  Gaude's  hands.  Her  home  had  virtually 
been  broken  up,  she  had  become  decrepit,  a  mere  bundle 
of  rags,  unable  even  to  handle  a  broom.  It  made  one 
tremble  to  see  her.  Then,  after  a  pause,  just  as  the 
cab  was  reaching  the  Rue  Caroline,  the  girl  continued  : 
"  Will  you  come  up  to  see  her  ?  You  might  say  a  few 


FRUITFULNESS  229 

kind  words  to  her.  It  would  please  me,  for  I'm  going  on 
a  rather  unpleasant  errand.  I  thought  that  she  would  have 
strength  enough  to  make  some  little  boxes  like  me,  and 
thus  earn  a  few  pence  for  herself;  but  she  has  kept  the 
work  I  gave  her  more  than  a  month  now,  and  if  she  really 
cannot  do  it  I  must  take  it  back." 

Mathieu  consented,  and  in  the  room  upstairs  he  beheld 
one  of  the  most  frightful,  poignant  spectacles  that  he  had 
ever  witnessed.  In  the  centre  of  that  one  room  where  the 
family  slept  and  ate,  Euphrasie  sat  on  a  straw-bottomed 
chair;  and  although  she  was  barely  thirty  years  of  age, 
one  might  have  taken  her  for  a  little  old  woman  of  fifty  ; 
so  thin  and  so  withered  did  she  look  that  she  resembled  one 
of  those  fruits,  suddenly  deprived  of  sap,  that  dry  up  on  the 
tree.  Her  teeth  had  fallen,  and  of  her  hair  she  only 
retained  a  few  white  locks.  But  the  more  characteristic 
mark  of  this  mature  senility  was  a  wonderful  loss  of  mus- 
cular strength,  an  almost  complete  disappearance  of  will, 
energy,  and  power  of  action,  so  that  she  now  spent  whole 
days,  idle,  stupefied,  without  courage  even  to  raise  a  finger. 

When  Cecile  told  her  that  her  visitor  was  M.  Froment, 
the  former  chief  designer  at  the  Beauchene  works,  she  did 
not  even  seem  to  recognize  him  ;  she  no  longer  took  interest 
in  anything.  And  when  her  sister  spoke  of  the  object  of 
her  visit,  asking  for  the  work  with  which  she  had  entrusted 
her,  she  answered  with  a  gesture  of  utter  weariness  :  "  Oh  ! 
what  can  you  expect !  It  takes  me  too  long  to  stick  all 
those  little  bits  of  cardboard  together.  I  can't  do  it;  it 
throws  me  into  a  perspiration." 

Then  a  stout  woman,  who  was  cutting  some  bread  and 
butter  for  the  three  children,  intervened  with  an  air  of  quiet 
authority :  "  You  ought  to  take  those  materials  away, 
Mademoiselle  Cecile.  She's  incapable  of  doing  anything 
with  them.  They  will  end  by  getting  dirty,  and  then  your 
people  won't  take  them  back." 

This  stout  woman  was  a  certain  Madame  Joseph,  a 
widow  of  forty  and  a  charwoman  by  calling,  whom  Benard, 
the  husband,  had  at  first  engaged  to  come  two  hours  every 


230  FRUITFULNESS 

morning  to  attend  to  the  housework,  his  wife  not  having 
strength  enough  to  put  on  a  child's  shoes  or  to  set  a  pot  on 
the  fire.  At  first  Euphrasie  had  offered  furious  resistance 
to  this  intrusion  of  a  stranger,  but,  her  physical  decline 
progressing,  she  had  been  obliged  to  yield.  And  then  things 
had  gone  from  bad  to  worse,  till  Madame  Joseph  became 
supreme  in  the  household.  Between  times  there  had  been 
terrible  scenes  over  it  all ;  but  the  wretched  Euphrasie, 
stammering  and  shivering,  had  at  last  resigned  herself  to 
the  position,  like  some  little  old  woman  sunk  into  second 
childhood  and  already  cut  off  from  the  world.  That 
Benard  and  Madame  Joseph  were  not  bad-hearted  in 
reality  was  shown  by  the  fact  that  although  Euphrasie  was 
now  but  an  useless  encumbrance,  they  kept  her  with  them, 
instead  of  flinging  her  into  the  streets  as  others  would  have 
done. 

u  Why,  there  you  are  again  in  the  middle  of  the  room ! " 
suddenly  exclaimed  the  fat  woman,  who  each  time  that 
she  went  hither  and  thither  found  it  necessary  to  avoid 
the  other's  chair.  "  How  funny  it  is  that  you  can  never 
put  yourself  in  a  corner !  Auguste  will  be  coming  in  for 
his  four  o'clock  snack  in  a  moment,  and  he  won't  be  at  all 
pleased  if  he  doesn't  find  his  cheese  and  his  glass  of  wine 
on  the  table." 

Without  replying,  Euphrasie  nervously  staggered  to  her 
feet,  and  with  the  greatest  trouble  dragged  her  chair 
towards  the  table.  Then  she  sat  down  again  limp  and 
very  weary. 

Just  as  Madame  Joseph  was  bringing  the  cheese,  Benard, 
whose  workshop  was  near  by,  made  his  appearance.  He  was 
still  a  full-bodied,  jovial  fellow,  and  began  to  jest  with  his 
sister-in-law  while  showing  great  politeness  towards  Mathieu, 
whom  he  thanked  for  taking  interest  in  his  unhappy  wife's 
condition.  "  Mon  Dieu,  monsieur,"  said  he,  "  it  isn't  her 
fault ;  it  is  all  due  to  those  rascally  doctors  at  the  hospital. 
For  a  year  or  so  one  might  have  thought  her  cured,  but  you 
see  what  has  now  become  of  her.  Ah  !  it  ought  not  to 
be  allowed  !  You  are  no  doubt  aware  that  they  treated 


FRUITFULNESS  231 

Cecile  just  the  same.  And  there  was  another,  too,  a  baron- 
ess, whom  you  must  know.  She  called  here  the  other  day 
to  see  Euphrasie,  and,  upon  my  word,  I  didn't  recognize 
her.  She  used  to  be  such  a  fine  woman,  and  now  she  looks 
a  hundred  years  old.  Yes,  yes,  I  say  that  the  doctors 
ought  to  be  sent  to  prison." 

He  was  about  to  sit  down  to  table  when  he  stumbled 
against  Euphrasie's  chair.  She  sat  watching  him  with  an 
anxious,  semi-stupefied  expression.  "  There  you  are,  in 
my  way  as  usual !  "  said  he ;  "  one  is  always  tumbling  up 
against  you.  Come,  make  a  little  room,  do." 

He  did  not  seem  to  be  a  very  terrible  customer,  but  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice  she  began  to  tremble,  full  of  childish  fear, 
as  if  she  were  threatened  with  a  thrashing.  And  this  time 
she  found  strength  enough  to  drag  her  chair  as  far  as  a  dark 
closet,  the  door  of  which  was  open.  She  there  sought  refuge, 
ensconcing  herself  in  the  gloom,  amid  which  one  could 
vaguely  espy  her  shrunken,  wrinkled  face,  which  suggested 
that  of  some  very  old  great-grandmother,  who  was  taking 
years  and  years  to  die. 

Mathieu's  heart  contracted  as  he  observed  that  senile 
terror,  that  shivering  obedience  on  the  part  of  a  woman 
whose  harsh,  dry,  aggressively  quarrelsome  disposition  he  so 
well  remembered.  Industrious,  self-willed,  full  of  life  as 
she  had  once  been,  she  was  now  but  a  limp  human  rag. 
And  yet  her  case  was  recorded  in  medical  annals  as  one  of 
the  renowned  Gaude's  great  miracles  of  cure.  Ah  !  how 
truly  had  Boutan  spoken  in  saying  that  people  ought  to  wait 
to  see  the  real  results  of  those  victorious  operations  which 
were  sapping  the  vitality  of  France. 

Cecile,  however,  with  eager  affection,  kissed  the  three 
children,  who  somehow  continued  to  grow  up  in  that 
wrecked  household.  Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  directly 
Madame  Joseph  had  given  her  back  the  work-materials 
entrusted  to  Euphrasie  she  hurried  Mathieu  away.  And,  as 
they  reached  the  street,  she  said :  "  Thank  you,  Monsieur 
Froment ;  I  can  go  home  on  foot  now .  How  fright- 
ful, eh  ?  Ah  !  as  I  told  you,  we  shall  be  in  Paradise,  Norine 


232  FRUITFULNESS 

and  I,  in  the  quiet  room  which  you  have  so  kindly  promised 
to  rent  for  us." 

On  reaching  Beauchene's  establishment  Mathieu  imme- 
diately repaired  to  the  workshops,  but  he  could  obtain  no 
precise  information  respecting  his  threshing-machine,  though 
he  had  ordered  it  several  months  previously.  He  was  told 
that  the  master's  son,  Monsieur  Maurice,  had  gone  out  on 
business,  and  that  nobody  could  give  him  an  answer,  particu- 
larly as  the  master  himself  had  not  put  in  an  appearance  at 
the  works  that  week.  He  learnt,  however,  that  Beauchene 
had  returned  from  a  journey  that  very  day,  and  must  be 
indoors  with  his  wife.  Accordingly,  he  resolved  to  call  at 
the  house,  less  on  account  of  the  threshing-machine  than  to 
decide  a  matter  of  great  interest  to  him,  that  of  the  entry 
of  one  of  his  twin  sons,  Blaise,  into  the  establishment. 

This  big  fellow  had  lately  left  college,  and  although  he 
had  only  completed  his  nineteenth  year,  he  was  on  the  point 
of  marrying  a  portionless  young  girl,  Charlotte  Desvignes, 
for  whom  he  had  conceived  a  romantic  attachment  ever 
since  childhood.  His  parents,  seeing  in  this  match  a  re- 
newal of  their  own  former  loving  improvidence,  had  felt 
moved,  and  unwilling  to  drive  the  lad  to  despair.  But,  if 
he  was  to  marry,  some  employment  must  first  be  found  for 
him.  Fortunately  this  could  be  managed.  While  Denis, 
the  other  of  the  twins,  entered  a  technical  school,  Beauchene, 
by  way  of  showing  his  esteem  for  the  increasing  fortune  of 
his  good  cousins,  as  he  now  called  the  Froments,  cordially 
offered  to  give  Blaise  a  situation  at  his  establishment. 

On  being  ushered  into  Constance's  little  yellow  salon, 
Mathieu  found  her  taking  a  cup  of  tea  with  Madame  Angelin, 
who  had  come  back  with  her  from  the  Rue  de  Miromesnil. 
Beauchene's  unexpected  arrival  on  the  scene  had  disagreea- 
bly interrupted  their  private  converse.  He  had  returned 
from  one  of  the  debauches  in  which  he  so  frequently 
indulged  under  the  pretext  of  making  a  short  business 
journey,  and,  still  slightly  intoxicated,  with  feverish,  sunken 
eyes  and  clammy  tongue,  he  was  wearying  the  two  women 
with  his  impudent,  noisy  falsehoods. 


FRUITFULNESS  233 

"  Ah !  my  dear  fellow  !  "  he  exclaimed  on  seeing 
Mathieu,  "  I  was  just  telling  the  ladies  of  my  return 

from  Amiens .  What  wonderful  duck  pates  they  have 

there ! " 

Then,  on  Mathieu  speaking  to  him  of  Blaise,  he  launched 
out  into  protestations  of  friendship.  It  was  understood, 
the  young  fellow  need  only  present  himself  at  the  works, 
and  in  the  first  instance  he  should  be  put  with  Morange,  in 
order  that  he  might  learn  something  of  the  business  mecha- 
nism of  the  establishment.  Thus  talking,  Beauchene  puffed 
and  coughed  and  spat,  exhaling  meantime  the  odor  of  to- 
bacco, alcohol,  and  musk,  which  he  always  brought  back 
from  his  "  sprees,"  while  his  wife  smiled  affectionately 
before  the  others  as  was  her  wont,  but  directed  at  him 
glances  full  of  despair  and  disgust  whenever  Madame 
Angelin  turned  her  head. 

As  Beauchene  continued  talking  too  much,  owning  for 
instance  that  he  did  not  know  how  far  the  thresher  might 
be  from  completion,  Mathieu  noticed  Constance  listening 
anxiously.  The  idea  of  Blaise  entering  the  establishment 
had  already  rendered  her  grave,  and  now  her  husband's 
apparent  ignorance  of  important  business  matters  distressed 
her.  Besides,  the  thought  of  Norine  was  reviving  in  her 
mind  ;  she  remembered  the  girl's  child,  and  almost  feared 
some  fresh  understanding  between  Beauchene  and  Mathieu. 
All  at  once,  however,  she  gave  a  cry  of  great  relief:  "  Ah  ! 
here  is  Maurice." 

Her  son  was  entering  the  room  —  her  son,  the  one  and 
only  god  on  whom  she  now  set  her  affection  and  pride,  the 
crown-prince  who  to-morrow  would  become  king,  who 
would  save  the  kingdom  from  perdition,  and  who  would 
exalt  her  on  his  right  hand  in  a  blaze  of  glory.  She  deemed 
him  handsome,  tall,  strong,  and  as  invincible  in  his  nine- 
teenth year  as  all  the  knights  of  the  old  legends.  When 
he  explained  that  he  had  just  profitably  compromised  a 
worrying  transaction  in  which  his  father  had  rashly  em- 
barked, she  pictured  him  repairing  disasters  and  achieving 
victories.  And  she  triumphed  more  than  ever  on  hearing 


234  FRUITFULNESS 

him  promise  that  the  threshing-machine  should  be  ready 
before  the  end  of  that  same  week. 

"  You  must  take  a  cup  of  tea,  my  dear,"  she  exclaimed. 
11  It  would  do  you  good  ;  you  worry  your  mind  too  much." 

Maurice  accepted  the  offer,  and  gayly  replied  :  "  Oh  !  do 
you  know,  an  omnibus  almost  crushed  me  just  now  in  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli !  " 

At  this  his  mother  turned  livid,  and  the  cup  which  she 
held  escaped  from  her  hand.  Ah  !  God,  was  her  happiness 
at  the  mercy  of  an  accident  ?  Then  once  again  the  fearful 
threat  sped  by,  that  icy  gust  which  came  she  knew  not 
whence,  but  which  ever  chilled  her  to  her  bones. 

"  Why,  you  stupid,"  said  Beauchene,  laughing,  "  it  was 
he  who  crushed  the  omnibus,  since  here  he  is,  telling  you 
the  tale.  Ah  !  my  poor  Maurice,  your  mother  is  really 
ridiculous.  I  know  how  strong  you  are,  and  I'm  quite  at 
ease  about  you." 

That  day  Madame  Angelin  returned  to  Janville  with 
Mathieu.  They  found  themselves  alone  in  the  railway 
carriage,  and  all  at  once,  without  any  apparent  cause,  tears 
started  from  the  young  woman's  eyes.  At  this  she  apolo- 
gized, and  murmured  as  if  in  a  dream :  "  To  have  a  child, 
to  rear  him,  and  then  lose  him  —  ah  !  certainly  one's  grief 
must  then  be  poignant.  Yet  one  has  had  him  with  one ; 
he  has  grown  up,  and  one  has  known  for  years  all  the  joy 
of  having  him  at  one's  side.  But  when  one  never  has 
a  child  —  never,  never  —  ah  !  come  rather  suffering  and 
mourning  than  such  a  void  as  that !  " 

And  meantime,  at  Chantebled,  Mathieu  and  Marianne 
founded,  created,  increased,  and  multiplied,  again  proving 
victorious  in  the  eternal  battle  which  life  wages  against 
death,  thanks  to  that  continual  increase  both  of  offspring 
and  of  fertile  land,  which  was  like  their  very  existence,  their 
joy  and  their  strength.  Desire  passed  like  a  gust  of  flame, 
desire  divine  and  fruitful,  since  they  possessed  the  power  of 
love,  of  kindliness,  and  health.  And  their  energy  did  the 
rest  —  that  will  of  action,  that  quiet  bravery  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  labor  that  is  necessary,  the  labor  that  has  made 


FRUITFULNESS  235 

and  that  regulates  the  world.  Yet  even  during  those  two 
years  it  was  not  without  constant  struggling  that  they 
achieved  victory.  True,  victory  was  becoming  more  and 
more  certain  as  the  estate  expanded.  The  petty  worries  of 
earlier  days  had  disappeared,  and  the  chief  question  was  now 
one  of  ruling  sensibly  and  equitably.  All  the  land  had  been 
purchased  northward  on  the  plateau,  from  the  farm  of 
Mareuil  to  the  farm  of  Lillebonne ;  there  was  not  a  copse 
that  did  not  belong  to  the  Froments,  and  thus  beside  the 
surging  sea  of  corn  there  rose  a  royal  park  of  centenarian 
trees.  Apart  from  the  question  of  felling  portions  of  the 
wood  for  timber,  Mathieu  was  not  disposed  to  retain  the 
remainder  for  mere  beauty's  sake  ;  and  accordingly  avenues 
were  devised  connecting  the  broad  clearings,  and  cattle  were 
then  turned  into  this  part  of  the  property.  The  ark  of 
life,  increased  by  hundreds  of  animals,  expanded,  burst 
through  the  great  trees.  There  was  a  fresh  growth  of 
fruitfulness  :  more  and  more  cattle-sheds  had  to  be  built, 
sheepcotes  had  to  be  created,  and  manure  came  in  loads  and 
loads  to  endow  the  land  with  wondrous  fertility.  And  now 
yet  other  children  might  come,  for  floods  of  milk  poured 
forth,  and  there  were  herds  and  flocks  to  clothe  and  nourish 
them.  Beside  the  ripening  crops  the  woods  waved  their 
greenery,  quivering  with  the  eternal  seeds  that  germinated 
in  their  shade,  under  the  dazzling  sun.  And  only  one  more 
stretch  of  land,  the  sandy  slopes  on  the  east,  remained  to 
be  conquered  in  order  that  the  kingdom  might  be  complete. 
Assuredly  this  compensated  one  for  all  former  tears,  for  all 
the  bitter  anxiety  of  the  first  years  of  toil. 

Then,  while  Mathieu  completed  his  conquest,  there  came 
to  Marianne  during  those  two  years  the  joy  of  marrying  one 
of  her  children  even  while  she  was  again  enceinte^  for,  like 
our  good  mother  the  earth,  she  also  remained  fruitful.  'Twas 
a  delightful  fete,  full  of  infinite  hope,  that  wedding  of  Blaise 
and  Charlotte ;  he  a  strong  young  fellow  of  nineteen,  she 
an  adorable  girl  of  eighteen  summers,  each  loving  the  other 
with  a  love  of  nosegay  freshness  that  had  budded,  even  in 
childhood's  hour,  along  the  flowery  paths  of  Chantebled. 


236  FRUITFULNESS 

The  eight  other  children  were  all  there  :  first  the  big  brothers, 
Denis,  Ambroise,  and  Gervais,  who  were  now  finishing  their 
studies  ;  next  Rose,  the  eldest  girl,  now  fourteen,  who  prom- 
ised to  become  a  woman  of  healthy  beauty  and  happy  gayety 
of  disposition  ;  then  Claire,  who  was  still  a  child,  and  Gre- 
goire,  who  was  only  just  going  to  college  ;  without  counting 
the  very  little  ones,  Louise  and  Madeleine. 

Folks  came  out  of  curiosity  from  the  surrounding  villages 
to  see  the  gay  troop  conduct  their  big  brother  to  the  munici- 
pal offices.  It  was  a  marvellous  cortege,  flowery  like  spring- 
tide, full  of  felicity,  which  moved  every  heart.  Often, 
moreover,  on  ordinary  holidays,  when  for  the  sake  of  an 
outing  the  family  repaired  in  a  band  to  some  village  market, 
there  was  such  a  gallop  in  traps,  on  horseback,  and  on  bicy- 
cles, while  the  girls'  hair  streamed  in  the  wind  and  loud 
laughter  rang  out  from  one  and  all,  that  people  would  stop 
to  watch  the  charming  cavalcade.  u  Here  are  the  troops 
passing ! "  folks  would  jestingly  exclaim,  implying  that 
nothing  could  resist  those  Froments,  that  the  whole  country- 
side was  theirs  by  right  of  conquest,  since  every  two  years 
their  number  increased.  And  this  time,  at  the  expiration  of 
those  last  two  years  it  was  again  to  a  daughter,  Marguerite, 
that  Marianne  gave  birth.  For  a  while  she  remained  in  a 
feverish  condition,  and  there  were  fears,  too,  that  she  might 
be  unable  to  nurse  her  infant  as  she  had  done  all  the  others. 
Thus,  when  Mathieu  saw  her  erect  once  more  and  smiling, 
with  her  dear  little  Marguerite  at  her  breast,  he  embraced 
her  passionately,  and  triumphed  once  again  over  every  sorrow 
and  every  pang.  Yet  another  child,  yet  more  wealth  and 
power,  yet  an  additional  force  born  into  the  world,  another 
field  ready  for  to-morrow's  harvest ! 

And  'twas  ever  the  great  work,  the  good  work,  the  work 
of  fruitfulness  spreading,  thanks  to  the  earth  and  thanks  to 
woman,  both  victorious  over  destruction,  offering  fresh  means 
of  subsistence  each  time  a  fresh  child  was  born,  and  loving, 
willing,  battling,  toiling,  even  amid  suffering,  and  ever 
tending  to  increase  of  life  and  increase  of  hope. 


XIV 

Two  more  years  went  by,  and  during  those  two  years  yet 
another  child,  this  time  a  boy,  was  born  to  Mathieu  and 
Marianne.  And  on  this  occasion,  at  the  same  time  as  the 
family  increased,  the  estate  of  Chantebled  was  increased  also 
by  all  the  heatherland  extending  to  the  east  as  far  as  the 
village  of  Vieux-Bourg.  And  this  time  the  last  lot  was  pur- 
chased, the  conquest  of  the  estate  was  complete.  The  1 250 
acres  of  uncultivated  soil  which  Seguin's  father,  the  old 
army  contractor,  had  formerly  purchased  in  view  of  erecting 
a  palatial  residence  there  were  now,  thanks  to  unremitting 
effort,  becoming  fruitful  from  end  to  end.  The  enclosure 
belonging  to  the  Lepailleurs,  who  stubbornly  refused  to  sell 
it,  alone  set  a  strip  of  dry,  stony,  desolate  land  amid  the 
broad  green  plain.  And  it  was  all  life's  resistless  conquest ; 
it  was  fruitfulness  spreading  in  the  sunlight ;  it  was  labor 
ever  incessantly  pursuing  its  work  of  creation  amid  obstacles 
and  suffering,  making  good  all  losses,  and  at  each  succeeding 
hour  setting  more  energy,  more  health,  and  more  joy  in  the 
veins  of  the  world. 

Blaise,  now  the  father  of  a  little  girl  some  ten  months 
old,  had  been  residing  at  the  Beauchene  works  since  the 
previous  winter.  He  occupied  the  little  pavilion  where  his 
mother  had  long  previously  given  birth  to  his  brother 
Gervais.  His  wife  Charlotte  had  conquered  the  Beauchenes 
by  her  fair  grace,  her  charming,  bouquet-like  freshness,  to 
such  a  point,  indeed,  that  even  Constance  had  desired  to 
have  her  near  her.  The  truth  was  that  Madame  Desvignes 
had  made  adorable  creatures  of  her  two  daughters,  Charlotte 
and  Marthe.  At  the  death  of  her  husband,  a  stockbroker's 
confidential  clerk,  who  had  died,  leaving  her  at  thirty  years 


238  FRUITFULNESS 

of  age  in  very  indifferent  circumstances,  she  had  gathered 
her  scanty  means  together  and  withdrawn  to  Janville,  her 
native  place,  where  she  had  entirely  devoted  herself  to  her 
daughters'  education.  Knowing  that  they  would  be  almost 
portionless,  she  had  brought  them  up  extremely  well,  in  the 
hope  that  this  might  help  to  find  them  husbands,  and  it  so 
chanced  that  she  proved  successful. 

Affectionate  intercourse  sprang  up  between  her  and  the 
Froments  ;  the  children  played  together  j  and  it  was,  indeed, 
from  those  first  games  that  came  the  love-romance  which 
was  to  end  in  the  marriage  of  Blaise  and  Charlotte.  By 
the  time  the  latter  reached  her  eighteenth  birthday  and 
married,  Marthe  her  sister,  then  fourteen  years  old,  had 
become  the  inseparable  companion  of  Rose  Froment,  who 
was  of  the  same  age  and  as  pretty  as  herself,  though  dark 
instead  of  fair.  Charlotte,  who  had  a  more  delicate,  and 
perhaps  a  weaker,  nature  than  her  gay,  sensible  sister,  had 
become  passionately  fond  of  drawing  and  painting,  which 
she  had  learnt  at  first  simply  by  way  of  accomplishment. 
She  had  ended,  however,  by  painting  miniatures  very  prettily, 
and,  as  her  mother  remarked,  her  proficiency  might  prove 
a  resource  to  her  in  the  event  of  misfortune.  Certainly 
there  was  some  of  the  bourgeois  respect  and  esteem  for  a 
good  education  in  the  fairly  cordial  greeting  which  Con- 
stance extended  to  Charlotte,  who  had  painted  a  miniature 
portrait  of  her,  a  good  though  a  flattering  likeness. 

On  the  other  hand,  Blaise,  who  was  endowed  with  the 
creative  fire  of  the  Froments,  ever  striving,  ever  hard  at 
work,  became  a  valuable  assistant  to  Maurice  as  soon  as  a 
brief  stay  in  Morange's  office  had  made  him  familiar  with 
the  business  of  the  firm.  Indeed  it  was  Maurice  who,  find- 
ing that  his  father  seconded  him  less  and  less,  had  insisted 
on  Blaise  and  Charlotte  installing  themselves  in  the  little 
pavilion,  in  order  that  the  former's  services  might  at  all 
times  be  available.  And  Constance,  ever  on  her  knees 
before  her  son,  could  in  this  matter  only  obey  respectfully. 
She  evinced  boundless  faith  in  the  vastness  of  Maurice's 
intellect.  His  studies  had  proved  fairly  satisfactory  ;  if  he 


FRUITFULNESS  239 

was  somewhat  slow  and  heavy,  and  had  frequently  been 
delayed  by  youthful  illnesses,  he  had,  nevertheless,  diligently 
plodded  on.  As  he  was  far  from  talkative,  his  mother  gave 
out  that  he  was  a  reflective,  concentrated  genius,  who  would 
astonish  the  world  by  actions,  not  by  speech.  Before  he 
was  even  fifteen  she  said  of  him,  in  her  adoring  way  : 
"Oh  !  he  has  a  great  mind."  And,  naturally  enough,  she 
only  acknowledged  Blaise  to  be  a  necessary  lieutenant,  a 
humble  assistant,  one  whose  hand  would  execute  the  sapient 
young  master's  orders.  The  latter,  to  her  thinking,  was 
now  so  strong  and  so  handsome,  and  he  was  so  quickly 
reviving  the  business  compromised  by  the  father's  slow 
collapse,  that  surely  he  must  be  on  the  high-road  to  prodig- 
ious wealth,  to  that  final  great  triumph,  indeed,  of  which 
she  had  been  dreaming  so  proudly,  so  egotistically,  for  so 
many  years. 

But  all  at  once  the  thunderbolt  fell.  It  was  not  without 
some  hesitation  that  Blaise  had  agreed  to  make  the  little 
pavilion  his  home,  for  he  knew  that  there  was  an  idea  of 
reducing  him  to  the  status  of  a  mere  piece  of  machinery. 
But  at  the  birth  of  his  little  girl  he  bravely  decided  to  accept 
the  proposal,  and  to  engage  in  the  battle  of  life  even  as  his 
father  had  engaged  in  it,  mindful  of  the  fact  that  he  also 
might  in  time  have  a  large  family.  But  it  so  happened 
that  one  morning,  when  he  went  up  to  the  house  to  ask 
Maurice  for  some  instructions,  he  heard  from  Constance 
herself  that  the  young  man  had  spent  a  very  bad  night,  and 
that  she  had  therefore  prevailed  on  him  to  remain  in  bed. 
She  did  not  evince  any  great  anxiety  on  the  subject ;  the 
indisposition  could  only  be  due  to  a  little  fatigue.  Indeed, 
for  a  week  past  the  two  cousins  had  been  tiring  themselves 
out  over  the  delivery  of  a  very  important  order,  which  had 
set  the  entire  works  in  motion.  Besides,  on  the  previous 
day  Maurice,  bareheaded  and  in  perspiration,  had  impru- 
dently lingered  in  a  draught  in  one  of  the  sheds  while  a 
machine  was  being  tested. 

That  evening  he  was  seized  with  intense  fever,  and 
Boutan  was  hastily  summoned.  On  the  morrow,  alarmed, 


24o  FRUITFULNESS 

though  he  scarcely  dared  to  say  it,  by  the  lightning-like 
progress  of  the  illness,  the  doctor  insisted  on  a  consultation, 
and  two  of  his  colleagues  being  summoned,  they  soon 
agreed  together.  The  malady  was  an  extremely  infectious 
form  of  galloping  consumption,  the  more  violent  since  it 
had  found  in  the  patient  a  field  where  there  was  little  to 
resist  its  onslaught.  Beauchene  was  away  from  home, 
travelling  as  usual.  Constance,  for  her  part,  in  spite  of  the 
grave  mien  of  the  doctors,  who  could  not  bring  themselves 
to  tell  her  the  brutal  truth,  remained,  in  spite  of  growing 
anxiety,  full  of  a  stubborn  hope  that  her  son,  the  hero,  the 
demi-god  necessary  for  her  own  life,  could  not  be  seri- 
ously ill  and  likely  to  die.  But  only  three  days  elapsed, 
and  during  the  very  night  that  Beauchene  returned  home, 
summoned  by  a  telegram,  the  young  fellow  expired  in  her 
arms. 

In  reality  his  death  was  simply  the  final  decomposition 
of  impoverished,  tainted,  bourgeois  blood,  the  sudden  disap- 
pearance of  a  poor,  mediocre  being  who,  despite  a  facade 
of  seeming  health,  had  been  ailing  since  childhood.  But 
what  an  overwhelming  blow  it  was  both  for  the  mother 
and  for  the  father,  all  whose  dreams  and  calculations  it 
swept  away  !  The  only  son,  the  one  and  only  heir,  the 
prince  of  industry,  whom  they  had  desired  with  such  obsti- 
nate, scheming  egotism,  had  passed  away  like  a  shadow ;  their 
arms  clasped  but  a  void,  and  the  frightful  reality  arose  before 
them;  a  moment  had  sufficed,  and  they  were  childless. 

Blaise  was  with  the  parents  at  the  bedside  at  the  moment 
when  Maurice  expired.  It  was  then  about  two  in  the 
morning,  and  as  soon  as  possible  he  telegraphed  the  news 
of  the  death  to  Chantebled.  Nine  o'clock  was  striking 
when  Marianne,  very  pale,  quite  upset,  came  into  the  yard 
to  call  Mathieu. 

"  Maurice  is  dead  !  .  .  .  Mon  Dieu  !  an  only  son  ;  poor 
people  !  " 

They  stood  there  thunderstruck,  chilled  and  trembling. 
They  had  simply  heard  that  the  young  man  was  poorly ; 
they  had  not  imagined  him  to  be  seriously  ill. 


FRUITFULNESS  241 

"  Let  me  go  to  dress,"  said  Mathieu ;  "  I  shall  take  the 
quarter-past  ten  o'clock  train.  I  must  go  to  kiss  them." 

Although  Marianne  was  expecting  her  eleventh  child 
before  long,  she  decided  to  accompany  her  husband.  It 
would  have  pained  her  to  be  unable  to  give  this  proof  of 
affection  to  her  cousins,  who,  all  things  considered,  had 
treated  Blaise  and  his  young  wife  very  kindly.  Moreover, 
she  was  really  grieved  by  the  terrible  catastrophe.  So  she 
and  her  husband,  after  distributing  the  day's  work  among 
the  servants,  set  out  for  Janville  station,  which  they 
reached  just  in  time  to  catch  the  quarter-past  ten  o'clock 
train.  It  was  already  rolling  on  again  when  they  recog- 
nized the  Lepailleurs  and  their  son  Antonin  in  the  very 
compartment  where  they  were  seated. 

Seeing  the  Froments  thus  together  in  full  dress,  the 
miller  imagined  that  they  were  going  to  a  wedding,  and 
when  he  learnt  that  they  had  a  visit  of  condolence  to  make, 
he  exclaimed  :  "  Oh  !  so  it's  just  the  contrary.  But  no 
matter,  it's  an  outing,  a  little  diversion  nevertheless." 

Since  Mathieu's  victory,  since  the  whole  of  the  estate  of 
Chantebled  had  been  conquered  and  fertilized,  Lepailleur 
had  shown  some  respect  for  his  bourgeois  rival.  Neverthe- 
less, although  he  could  not  deny  the  results  hitherto 
obtained,  he  did  not  altogether  surrender,  but  continued 
sneering,  as  if  he  expected  that  some  rending  of  heaven  or 
earth  would  take  place  to  prove  him  in  the  right.  He 
would  not  confess  that  he  had  made  a  mistake;  he  repeated 
that  he  knew  the  truth,  and  that  folks  would  some  day  see 
plainly  enough  that  a  peasant's  calling  was  the  very  worst 
calling  there  could  be,  since  the  dirty  land  had  gone  bank- 
rupt and  would  yield  nothing  more.  Besides,  he  held  his 
revenge  —  that  enclosure  which  he  left  barren,  unculti- 
vated, by  way  of  protest  against  the  adjoining  estate  which 
it  intersected.  The  thought  of  this  made  him  ironical. 

u  Well,"  he  resumed  in  his  ridiculously  vain,  scoffing 
way,  "  we  are  going  to  Paris  too.  Yes,  we  are  going  to 
install  this  young  gentleman  there." 

He  pointed  as  he  spoke  to  his  son  Antonin,  now  a  tall, 


242  FRUITFULNESS 

carroty  fellow  of  eighteen,  with  an  elongated  head.  A 
few  light-colored  bristles  were  already  sprouting  on  his 
chin  and  cheeks,  and  he  wore  town  attire,  with  a  silk  hat 
and  gloves,  and  a  bright  blue  necktie.  After  astonishing 
Janville  by  his  success  at  school,  he  had  displayed  so  much 
repugnance  to  manual  work  that  his  father  had  decided  to 
make  "  a  Parisian  "  of  him. 

"  So  it  is  decided ;  you  have  quite  made  up  your  mind  ?  " 
asked  Mathieu  in  a  friendly  way. 

"  Why,  yes ;  why  should  I  force  him  to  toil  and  moil 
without  the  least  hope  of  ever  enriching  himself?  Neither 
my  father  nor  I  ever  managed  to  put  a  copper  by  with 
that  wretched  old  mill  of  ours.  Why,  the  mill-stones 
wear  away  with  rot  more  than  with  grinding  corn.  And 
the  wretched  fields,  too,  yield  far  more  pebbles  than  crowns. 
And  so,  as  he's  now  a  scholar,  he  may  as  well  try  his  for- 
tune in  Paris.  There's  nothing  like  city  life  to  sharpen  a 
man's  wits." 

Madame  Lepailleur,  who  never  took  her  eyes  from  her 
son,  but  remained  in  admiration  before  him  as  formerly 
before  her  husband,  now  exclaimed  with  an  air  of  rapture : 
"  Yes,  yes,  he  has  a  place  as  a  clerk  with  Maitre  Rousselet, 
the  attorney.  We  have  rented  a  little  room  for  him;  I 
have  seen  about  the  furniture  and  the  linen,  and  to-day's 
the  great  day ;  he  will  sleep  there  to-night,  after  we  have 
dined,  all  three,  at  a  good  restaurant.  Ah  !  yes,  I'm  very 
pleased  ;  he's  making  a  start  now." 

"  And  he  will  perhaps  end  by  being  a  minister  of  state," 
said  Mathieu,  with  a  smile ;  "  who  knows  ?  Everything 
is  possible  nowadays." 

It  all  typified  the  exodus  from  the  country  districts 
towards  the  towns,  the  feverish  impatience  to  make  a 
fortune,  which  was  becoming  general.  Even  the  parents 
nowadays  celebrated  their  child's  departure,  and  accompa- 
nied the  adventurer  on  his  way,  anxious  and  proud  to  climb 
the  social  ladder  with  him.  And  that  which  brought  a 
smile  to  the  lips  of  the  farmer  of  Chantebled,  the  bourgeois 
who  had  become  a  peasant,  was  the  thought  of  the  double 


FRUITFULNESS  243 

change  :  the  miller's  son  going  to  Paris,  whereas  he  had  gone 
to  the  earth,  the  mother  of  all  strength  and  regeneration. 

Antonin,  however,  had  also  begun  to  laugh  with  the  air 
of  an  artful  idler  who  was  more  particularly  attracted  by 
the  free  dissipation  of  Paris  life.  "Oh!  minister?"  said 
he,  "  I  haven't  much  taste  for  that.  I  would  much  sooner 
win  a  million  at  once  so  as  to  rest  afterwards." 

Delighted  with  this  display  of  wit,  the  Lepailleurs  burst 
into  noisy  merriment.  Oh !  their  boy  would  do  great 
things,  that  was  quite  certain  ! 

Marianne,  her  heart  oppressed  by  thought  of  the  mourn- 
ing which  awaited  her,  had  hitherto  kept  silent.  She  now 
asked,  however,  why  little  Therese  did  not  form  one  of  the 
party.  Lepailleur  dryly  replied  that  he  did  not  choose  to 
embarrass  himself  with  a  child  but  six  years  old,  who  did 
not  know  how  to  behave.  Her  arrival  had  upset  every- 
thing in  the  house ;  things  would  have  been  much  better 
if  she  had  never  been  born.  Then,  as  Marianne  began  to 
protest,  saying  that  she  had  seldom  seen  a  more  intelligent 
and  prettier  little  girl,  Madame  Lepailleur  answered  more 
gently  :  "  Oh  !  she's  sharp ;  that's  true  enough ;  but  one 
can't  send  girls  to  Paris.  She'll  have  to  be  put  somewhere, 
and  it  will  mean  a  lot  of  trouble,  a  lot  of  money.  How- 
ever, we  mustn't  talk  about  all  that  this  morning,  since  we 
want  to  enjoy  ourselves." 

At  last  the  train  reached  Paris,  and  the  Lepailleurs,  leav- 
ing the  Northern  terminus,  were  caught  and  carried  off  by 
the  impetuously  streaming  crowd. 

When  Mathieu  and  Marianne  alighted  from  their  cab  on 
the  Quai  d'Orsay,  in  front  of  the  Beauchenes'  residence, 
they  recognized  the  Seguins'  brougham  drawn  up  beside 
the  foot  pavement.  And  within  it  they  perceived  the  two 
girls,  Lucie  and  Andree,  waiting  mute  and  motionless  in 
their  light-colored  dresses.  Then,  as  they  approached  the 
door,  they  saw  Valentine  come  out,  in  a  very  great  hurry 
as  usual.  On  recognizing  them,  however,  she  assumed  an 
expression  of  deep  pity,  and  spoke  the  words  required  by 
the  situation : 


244  FRUITFULNESS 

"  What  a  frightful  misfortune,  is  it  not  ?  an  only  son  !  " 

Then  she  burst  out  into  a  flood  of  words  :  "  You  have 
hastened  here,  I  see,  as  I  did ;  it  is  only  natural.  I  heard 
of  the  catastrophe  only  by  chance  less  than  an  hour  ago. 
And  you  see  my  luck !  My  daughters  were  dressed,  and 
I  myself  was  dressing  to  take  them  to  a  wedding  —  a 
cousin  of  our  friend  Santerre  is  marrying  a  diplomatist. 
And,  in  addition,  I  am  engaged  for  the  whole  afternoon. 
Well,  although  the  wedding  is  fixed  for  a  quarter-past 
eleven,  I  did  not  hesitate,  but  drove  here  before  going  to 
the  church.  And  naturally  I  went  upstairs  alone.  My 
daughters  have  been  waiting  in  the  carriage.  We  shall  no 
doubt  be  a  little  late  for  the  wedding.  But  no  matter ! 
You  will  see  the  poor  parents  in  their  empty  house,  near 
the  body,  which,  I  must  say,  they  have  laid  out  very  nicely 
on  the  bed.  Oh  !  it  is  heartrending." 

Mathieu  was  looking  at  her,  surprised  to  see  that  she  did 
not  age.  The  fiery  flame  of  her  wild  life  seemed  to  scorch 
and  preserve  her.  He  knew  that  her  home  was  now  com- 
pletely wrecked.  Seguin  openly  lived  with  Nora,  the  gov- 
erness, for  whom  he  had  furnished  a  little  house.  It  was 
there  even  that  he  had  given  Mathieu  an  appointment  to 
sign  the  final  transfer  of  the  Chantebled  property.  And 
since  Gaston  had  entered  the  military  college  of  St.  Cyr, 
Valentine  had  only  her  two  daughters  with  her  in  the  spa- 
cious, luxurious  mansion  of  the  Avenue  d'Antin,  which 
ruin  was  slowly  destroying. 

"  I  think,"  resumed  Madame  Seguin,  "  that  I  shall  tell 
Gaston  to  obtain  permission  to  attend  the  funeral.  For  I 
am  not  sure  whether  his  father  is  in  Paris.  It's  just  the 
same  with  our  friend  Santerre ;  he's  starting  on  a  tour 
to-morrow.  Ah  !  not  only  do  the  dead  leave  us,  but  it  is 
astonishing  what  a  number  of  the  living  go  off  and  disap- 
pear !  Life  is  very  sad,  is  it  not,  dear  madame  ?  " 

As  she  spoke  a  little  quiver  passed  over  her  face ;  the 
dread  of  the  coming  rupture,  which  she  had  felt  approach- 
ing for  several  months  past,  amid  all  the  skilful  preparations 
of  Santerre,  who  had  been  long  maturing  some  secret  plan, 


FRUITFULNESS  245 

which  she  did  not  as  yet  divine.  However,  she  made  a 
devout  ecstatic  gesture,  and  added  :  "  Well,  we  are  in  the 
hands  of  God." 

Marianne,  who  was  still  smiling  at  the  ever-motionless 
girls  in  the  closed  brougham,  changed  the  subject.  "  How 
tall  they  have  grown,  how  pretty  they  have  become !  Your 
Andree  looks  adorable.  How  old  is  your  Lucie  now  ?  She 
will  soon  be  of  an  age  to  marry." 

"  Oh  !  don't  let  her  hear  you,"  retorted  Valentine ;  "  you 
would  make  her  burst  into  tears  !  She  is  seventeen,  but  for 
sense  she  isn't  twelve.  Would  you  believe  it,  she  began 
sobbing  this  morning  and  refusing  to  go  to  the  wedding, 
under  the  pretence  that  it  would  make  her  ill  ?  She  is  always 
talking  of  convents ;  we  shall  have  to  come  to  a  decision 
about  her.  Andree,  though  she  is  only  thirteen,  is  already 
much  more  womanly.  But  she  is  a  little  stupid,  just  like  a 
sheep.  Her  gentleness  quite  upsets  me  at  times ;  it  jars  on 
my  nerves." 

Then  Valentine,  on  the  point  of  getting  into  her  carriage, 
turned  to  shake  hands  with  Marianne,  and  thought  of  in- 
quiring after  her  health.  "  Really,"  said  she,  "  I  lose  my 
head  at  times.  I  was  quite  forgetting.  And  the  baby  you're 
expecting  will  be  your  eleventh  child,  will  it  now  ?  How 
terrible  !  Still  it  succeeds  with  you.  And,  ah  !  those  poor 
people  whom  you  are  going  to  see,  their  house  will  be  quite 
empty  now." 

When  the  brougham  had  rolled  away  it  occurred  to 
Mathieu  and  Marianne  that  before  seeing  the  Beauchenes  it 
might  be  advisable  for  them  to  call  at  the  little  pavilion, 
where  their  son  or  their  daughter-in-law  might  be  able  to 
give  them  some  useful  information.  But  neither  Blaise  nor 
Charlotte  was  there.  They  found  only  a  servant  who  was 
watching  over  the  little  girl,  Berthe.  This  servant  declared 
that  she  had  not  seen  Monsieur  Blaise  since  the  previous 
day,  for  he  had  remained  at  the  Beauchenes'  near  the  body. 
And  as  for  Madame,  she  also  had  gone  there  early  that 
morning,  and  had  left  instructions  that  Berthe  was  to  be 
brought  to  her  at  noon,  in  order  that  she  might  not  have  to 


246  FRUITFULNESS 

come  back  to  give  her  the  breast.  Then,  as  Marianne  in 
surprise  began  to  put  some  questions,  the  girl  explained 
matters :  "  Madame  took  a  box  of  drawing  materials  with 
her.  I  fancy  that  she  is  painting  a  portrait  of  the  poor 
young  man  who  is  dead." 

As  Mathieu  and  Marianne  crossed  the  courtyard  of  the 
works,  they  felt  oppressed  by  the  grave-like  silence  which 
reigned  in  that  great  city  of  labor,  usually  so  full  of  noise 
and  bustle.  Death  had  suddenly  passed  by,  and  all  the 
ardent  life  had  at  once  ceased,  the  machinery  had  become 
cold  and  mute,  the  workshops  silent  and  deserted.  There 
was  not  a  sound,  not  a  soul,  not  a  puff  of  that  vapor 
which  was  like  the  very  breath  of  the  place.  Its  master 
dead,  it  had  died  also.  And  the  distress  of  the  Froments 
increased  when  they  passed  from  the  works  into  the  house, 
amid  absolute  solitude;  the  connecting  gallery  was  wrapt 
in  slumber,  the  staircase  quivered  amid  the  heavy  silence, 
all  the  doors  were  open,  as  in  some  uninhabited  house,  long 
since  deserted.  They  found  no  servant  in  the  antechamber, 
and  even  the  dim  drawing-room,  where  the  blinds  of  em- 
broidered muslin  were  lowered,  while  the  armchairs  were 
arranged  in  a  circle,  as  on  reception  days,  when  numerous 
visitors  were  expected,  at  first  seemed  to  them  to  be  empty. 
But  at  last  they  detected  a  shadowy  form  moving  slowly  to 
and  fro  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  It  was  Morange,  bare- 
headed and  frock-coated;  he  had  hastened  thither  at  the  first 
news  with  the  same  air  as  if  he  had  been  repairing  to  his 
office.  He  seemed  to  be  at  home ;  it  was  he  who  received 
the  visitors  in  a  scared  way,  overcome  as  he  was  by  this 
sudden  demise,  which  recalled  to  him  his  daughter's  abom- 
inable death.  His  heart-wound  had  reopened  ;  he  was  livid, 
all  in  disorder,  with  his  long  gray  beard  streaming  down, 
while  he  stepped  hither  and  thither  without  a  pause,  making 
all  the  surrounding  grief  his  own. 

As  soon  as  he  recognized  the  Froments  he  also  spoke 
the  words  which  came  from  every  tongue :  "  What  a 
frightful  misfortune,  an  only  son  !  " 

Then  he  pressed  their  hands,  and  whispered  and  explained 


FRUITFULNESS  247 

that  Madame  Beauchene,  feeling  quite  exhausted,  had  with- 
drawn for  a  few  moments,  and  that  Beauchene  and  Blaise 
were  making  necessary  arrangements  downstairs.  And 
then,  resuming  his  maniacal  perambulations,  he  pointed 
towards  an  adjoining  room,  the  folding  doors  of  which 
were  wide  open. 

"  He  is  there,  on  the  bed  where  he  died.  There  are 
flowers ;  it  looks  very  nice.  You  may  go  in." 

This  room  was  Maurice's  bedchamber.  The  large  cur- 
tains had  been  closely  drawn,  and  tapers  were  burning 
near  the  bed,  casting  a  soft  light  on  the  deceased's  face, 
which  appeared  very  calm,  very  white,  the  eyes  closed  as  if 
in  sleep.  Between  the  clasped  hands  rested  a  crucifix,  and 
with  the  roses  scattered  over  the  sheet  the  bed  was  like  a 
couch  of  springtide.  The  odor  of  the  flowers,  mingling 
with  that  of  the  burning  wax,  seemed  rather  oppressive  amid 
the  deep  and  tragic  stillness.  Not  a  breath  stirred  the  tall, 
erect  flames  of  the  tapers,  burning  in  the  semi-obscurity, 
amid  which  the  bed  alone  showed  forth. 

When  Mathieu  and  Marianne  had  gone  in,  they  per- 
ceived their  daughter-in-law,  Charlotte,  behind  a  screen 
near  the  door.  Lighted  by  a  little  lamp,  she  sat  there 
with  a  sketching-block  on  her  knees,  making  a  drawing  of 
Maurice's  head  as  it  rested  among  the  roses.  Hard  and 
anguish-bringing  as  was  such  work  for  one  with  so  young 
a  heart,  she  had  nevertheless  yielded  to  the  mother's  ardent 
entreaties.  And  for  three  hours  past,  pale,  looking  won- 
drously  beautiful,  her  face  showing  all  the  flower  of  youth, 
her  blue  eyes  opening  widely  under  her  fine  golden  hair, 
she  had  been  there  diligently  working,  striving  to  do  her 
best.  When  Mathieu  and  Marianne  approached  her  she 
would  not  speak,  but  simply  nodded.  Still  a  little  color 
came  to  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  smiled.  And  when  the 
others,  after  lingering  there  for  a  moment  in  sorrowful 
contemplation,  had  quietly  returned  to  the  drawing-room, 
she  resumed  her  work  alone,  in  the  presence  of  the  dead, 
among  the  roses  and  the  tapers. 

Morange  was  still  walking  the  drawing-room  like  a  lost, 


248  FRUITFULNESS 

wandering  phantom.  Mathieu  remained  standing  there, 
while  Marianne  sat  down  near  the  folding  doors.  Not 
another  word  was  exchanged  ;  the  spell  of  waiting  continued 
amid  the  oppressive  silence  of  the  dim,  closed  room.  When 
some  ten  minutes  had  elapsed,  two  other  visitors  arrived,  a 
lady  and  a  gentleman,  whom  the  Froments  could  not  at 
first  recognize.  Morange  bowed  and  received  them  in  his 
dazed  way.  Then,  as  the  lady  did  not  release  her  hold  of 
the  gentleman's  hand,  but  led  him  along,  as  if  he  were 
blind,  between  the  articles  of  furniture,  so  that  he  might 
not  knock  against  them,  Marianne  and  Mathieu  realized 
that  the  new  comers  were  the  Angelins. 

Since  the  previous  winter  they  had  sold  their  little  house 
at  Janville  to  fix  themselves  in  Paris,  for  a  last  misfortune 
had  befallen  them  —  the  failure  of  a  great  banking  house 
had  carried  away  almost  the  whole  of  their  modest  fortune. 
The  wife  had  fortunately  secured  a  post  as  one  of  the 
delegates  of  the  Poor  Relief  Board,  an  inspectorship  with 
various  duties,  such  as  watching  over  the  mothers  and 
children  assisted  by  the  board,  and  reporting  thereon.  And 
she  was  wont  to  say,  with  a  sad  smile,  that  this  work  of 
looking  after  the  little  ones  was  something  of  a  consolation 
for  her,  since  it  was  now  certain  that  she  would  never  have 
a  child  of  her  own.  As  for  her  husband,  whose  eyesight 
was  failing  more  and  more,  he  had  been  obliged  to  relinquish 
painting  altogether,  and  he  dragged  out  his  days  in  morose 
desolation,  his  life  wrecked,  annihilated. 

With  short  steps,  as  if  she  were  leading  a  child,  Madame 
Angelin  brought  him  to  an  armchair  near  Marianne  and 
seated  him  in  it.  He  had  retained  the  lofty  mien  of  a 
musketeer,  but  his  features  had  been  ravaged  by  anxiety, 
and  his  hair  was  white,  though  he  was  only  forty-four  years 
of  age.  And  what  memories  arose  at  the  sight  of  that 
sorrowful  lady  leading  that  infirm,  aged  man,  for  those  who 
had  known  the  young  couple,  all  tenderness  and  good  looks, 
rambling  along  the  secluded  paths  of  Janville,  amid  the 
careless  delights  of  their  love. 

As  soon  as    Madame   Angelin   had  clasped   Marianne's 


FRUITFULNESS  249 

hands  with  her  own  trembling  fingers,  she  also  uttered  in 
low,  stammering  accents,  those  despairing  words  :  "  Ah  ! 
what  a  frightful  misfortune,  an  only  son  !  " 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  would  not  sit  down 
before  going  for  a  moment  to  see  the  body  in  the  adjoining 
room.  When  she  came  back,  sobbing  in  her  handkerchief, 
she  sank  into  an  armchair  between  Marianne  and  her  hus- 
band. He  remained  there  motionless,  staring  fixedly  with 
his  dim  eyes.  And  silence  fell  again  throughout  the  lifeless 
house,  whither  the  rumble  of  the  works,  now  deserted, 
fireless  and  frozen,  .ascended  no  longer. 

But  Beauchene,  followed  by  Blaise,  at  last  made  his 
appearance.  The  heavy  blow  he  had  received  seemed  to 
have  made  him  ten  years  older.  It  was  as  if  the  heavens 
had  suddenly  fallen  upon  him.  Never  amid  his  conquering 
egotism,  his  pride  of  strength  and  his  pleasures,  had  he  im- 
agined such  a  downfall  to  be  possible.  Never  had  he  been 
willing;  to  admit  that  Maurice  might  be  ill  —  such  an  idea 

O  o 

was  like  casting  a  doubt  upon  his  own  strength  ;  he  thought 
himself  beyond  the  reach  of  thunderbolts  ;  misfortune  would 
never  dare  to  fall  on  him.  And  at  the  first  overwhelming 
moment  he  had  found  himself  weak  as  a  woman,  weary 
and  limp,  his  strength  undermined  by  his  dissolute  life,  the 
slow  disorganization  of  his  faculties.  He  had  sobbed  like 
a  child  before  his  dead  son,  all  his  vanity  crushed,  all 
his  calculations  destroyed.  The  thunderbolt  had  sped 
by,  and  nothing  remained.  In  a  minute  his  life  had  been 
swept  away ;  the  world  was  now  all  black  and  void. 
And  he  remained  livid,  in  consternation  at  it  all,  his 
bloated  face  swollen  with  grief,  his  heavy  eyelids  red  with 
tears. 

When  he  perceived  the  Froments,  weakness  again  came 
upon  him,  and  he  staggered  towards  them  with  open  arms, 
once  more  stifling  with  sobs. 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  friends,  what  a  terrible  blow  !  And  I 
wasn't  here  !  When  I  got  here  he  had  lost  consciousness; 

he  did  not  recognize  me .  Is  it  possible  ?  A  lad  who  was 

in  such  good  health  !  I  cannot  believe  it.  It  seems  to  me 


250  FRUITFULNESS 

that  I  must  be  dreaming,  and  that  he  will  get  up  presently 
and  come  down  with  me  into  the  workshops  !  " 

They  kissed  him,  they  pitied  him,  struck  down  like  this 
upon  his  return  from  some  carouse  or  other,  still  intoxi- 
cated, perhaps,  and  tumbling  into  the  midst  of  such  an  aw- 
ful disaster,  his  prostration  increased  by  the  stupor  following 
upon  debauchery.  His  beard,  moist  with  his  tears,  still 
stank  of  tobacco  and  musk. 

Although  he  scarcely  knew  the  Angelins,  he  pressed  them 
also  in  his  arms.  "  Ah  !  my  poor  friends,  what  a  terrible 
blow  !  What  a  terrible  blow  !  " 

Then  Blaise  in  his  turn  came  to  kiss  his  parents.  In 
spite  of  his  grief,  and  the  horrible  night  he  had  spent,  his 
face  retained  its  youthful  freshness.  Yet  tears  coursed  down 
his  cheeks,  for,  working  with  Maurice  day  by  day,  he  had 
conceived  real  friendship  for  him. 

The  silence  fell  again.  Morange,  as  if  unconscious  of 
what  went  on  around  him,  as  if  he  were  quite  alone  there, 
continued  walking  softly  hither  and  thither  like  a  somnam- 
bulist. Beauchene,  with  haggard  mien,  went  off,  and  then 
came  back  carrying  some  little  address-books.  He  turned 
about  for  another  moment,  and  finally  sat  down  at  a  writ- 
ing-table which  had  been  brought  out  of  Maurice's  room. 
Little  accustomed  as  he  was  to  grief,  he  instinctively  sought 
to  divert  his  mind,  and  began  searching  in  the  little  address- 
books  for  the  purpose  of  drawing  up  a  list  of  the  persons 
who  must  be  invited  to  the  funeral.  But  his  eyes  became 
blurred,  and  with  a  gesture  he  summoned  Blaise,  who,  after 
going  into  the  bedchamber  to  glance  at  his  wife's  sketch, 
was  now  returning  to  the  drawing-room.  Thereupon  the 
young  man,  standing  erect  beside  the  writing-table,  began 
to  dictate  the  names  in  a  low  voice ;  and  then,  amid  the 
deep  silence  sounded  a  low  and  monotonous  murmur. 

The  minutes  slowly  went  by.  The  visitors  were  still 
waiting  for  Constance.  At  last  a  little  door  of  the  death- 
chamber  slowly  opened,  and  she  entered  that  chamber  noise- 
lessly, without  anybody  knowing  that  she  was  there.  She 
looked  like  a  spectre  emerging  out  of  the  darkness  into  the 


FRUITFULNESS  251 

pale  light  of  the  tapers.  She  had  not  yet  wept ;  her  face 
was  livid,  contracted,  hardened  by  cold  rage.  Her  little  fig- 
ure, instead  of  bending,  seemed  to  have  grown  taller  beneath 
the  injustice  of  destiny,  as  if  borne  up  by  furious  rebellion. 
Yet  her  loss  did  not  surprise  her.  She"  had  immediately 
felt  that  she  had  expected  it,  although  but  a  minute  before 
the  death  she  had  stubbornly  refused  to  believe  it  possible. 
But  the  thought  of  it  had  remained  latent  within  her  for 
long  months,  and  frightful  evidence  thereof  now  burst  forth. 
She  suddenly  heard  the  whispers  of  the  unknown  once  more, 
and  understood  them  ;  she  knew  the  meaning  of  those  shiv- 
ers which  had  chilled  her,  those  vague,  terror-fraught  regrets 
at  having  no  other  child  !  And  that  which  had  been  threat- 
ening her  had  come ;  irreparable  destiny  had  willed  it  that 
her  only  son,  the  salvation  of  the  imperilled  home,  the  prince 
of  to-morrow,  who  was  to  share  his  empire  with  her,  should 
be  swept  away  like  a  withered  leaf.  It  was  utter  downfall ; 
she  sank  into  an  abyss.  And  she  remained  tearless ;  fury 
dried  her  tears  within  her.  Yet,  good  mother  that  she  had 
always  been,  she  suffered  all  the  torment  of  motherliness 
exasperated,  poisoned  by  the  loss  of  her  child. 

She  drew  near  to  Charlotte  and  paused  behind  her,  look- 
ing at  the  profile  of  her  dead  son  resting  among  the  flowers. 
And  still  she  did  not  weep.  She  slowly  gazed  over  the  bed, 
filled  her  eyes  with  the  dolorous  scene,  then  carried  them 
again  to  the  paper,  as  if  to  see  what  would  be  left  her  of 
that  adored  son  —  those  few  pencil  strokes  —  when  the 
earth  should  have  taken  him  forever.  Charlotte,  divining 
that  somebody  was  behind  her,  started  and  raised  her  head. 
She  did  not  speak ;  she  had  felt  frightened.  But  both  women 
exchanged  a  glance.  And  what  a  heart  pang  came  to 
Constance,  amid  that  display  of  death,  in  the  presence  of 
the  void,  the  nothingness  that  was  hers,  as  she  gazed  on 
the  other's  face,  all  love  and  health  and  beauty,  suggesting 
some  youthful  star,  whence  promise  of  the  future  radiated 
through  the  fine  gold  of  wavy  hair. 

But  yet  another  pang  came  to  Constance  at  that  moment: 
words  which  were  being  whispered  in  the  drawing-room, 


252  FRUITFULNESS 

near  the  door  of  the  bedchamber,  reached  her  distinctly. 
She  did  not  move,  but  remained  erect  behind  Charlotte, 
who  had  resumed  her  work.  And  eagerly  lending  ear,  she 
listened,  not  showing  herself  as  yet,  although  she  had 
already  seen  Marianne  and  Madame  Angelin  seated  near 
the  doorway,  almost  among  the  folds  of  the  hangings. 

"  Ah  !  "  Madame  Angelin  was  saying,  "the  poor  mother 
had  a  presentiment  of  it,  as  it  were.  I  saw  that  she  felt 
very  anxious  when  I  told  her  my  own  sad  story.  There  is 
no  hope  for  me ;  and  now  death  has  passed  by,  and  no 
hope  remains  for  her." 

Silence  ensued  once  more;  then,  prompted  by  some 
connecting  train  of  thought,  she  went  on  :  "  And  your  next 
child  will  be  your  eleventh,  will  it  not  ?  Eleven  is  not  a 
number ;  you  will  surely  end  by  having  twelve  !  " 

As  Constance  heard  those  words  she  shuddered  in  another 
fit  of  that  fury  which  dried  up  her  tears.  By  glancing 
sideways  she  could  see  that  mother  of  ten  children,  who 
was  now  expecting  yet  an  eleventh  child.  She  found  her 
still  young,  still  fresh,  overflowing  with  joy  anc:  health  and 
hope.  And  she  was  there,  like  the  goddess  oi;  frukfulness, 
nigh  to  the  funeral  bier  at  that  hour  of  the  supreme  rending, 
when  she,  Constance,  was  bowed  down  by  the  irretrievable 
loss  of  her  only  child. 

But  Marianne  was  answering  Madame  Angelin  :  "  Oh  ! 
I  don't  think  that  at  all  likely.  Why,  I'm  becoming  an 
old  woman.  You  forget  that  I  am  already  a  grandmother. 
Here,  look  at  that !  " 

So  saying,  she  waved  her  hand  towards  the  servant  of 
her  daughter-in-law,  Charlotte,  who,  in  accordance  with 
the  instructions  she  had  received,  was  now  bringing  the 
little  Berthe  in  order  that  her  mother  might  give  her  the 
breast.  The  servant  had  remained  at  the  drawing-room 
door,  hesitating,  disliking  to  intrude  on  all  that  mourning ; 
but  the  child  good-humoredly  waved  her  fat  little  fists,  and 
laughed  lightly.  And  Charlotte,  hearing  her,  immediately 
rose  and  tripped  across  the  salon  to  take  the  little  one  into 
a  neighboring  room. 


FRUITFULNESS  253 

"  What  a  pretty  child  !  "  murmured  Madame  Angelin. 
"  Those  little  ones  are  like  nosegays  ;  they  bring  brightness 
and  freshness  wherever  they  come." 

Constance  for  her  part  had  been  dazzled.  All  at  once, 
amid  the  semi-obscurity,  starred  by  the  flames  of  the  tapers, 
amid  the  deathly  atmosphere,  which  the  odor  of  the  roses 
rendered  the  more  oppressive,  that  laughing  child  had  set  a 
semblance  of  budding  springtime,  the  fresh,  bright  atmos- 
phere of  a  long  promise  of  life.  And  it  typified  the  victory 
of  fruitfulness ;  it  was  the  child's  child,  it  was  Marianne 
reviving  in  her  son's  daughter.  A  grandmother  already, 
and  she  was  only  forty-one  years  old  !  Marianne  had  smiled 
at  that  thought.  But  the  hatchet-stroke  rang  out  yet  more 
frightfully  in  Constance's  heart.  In  her  case  the  tree  was 
cut  down  to  its  very  root,  the  sole  scion  had  been  lopped 
off,  and  none  would  ever  sprout  again. 

For  yet  another  moment  she  remained  alone  amid  that 
nothingness,  in  that  room  where  lay  her  son's  remains. 
Then  she  made  up  her  mind  and  passed  into  the  drawing- 
room,  with  the  air  of  a  frozen  spectre.  They  all  rose, 
kissed  her,  and  shivered  as  their  lips  touched  her  cold 
cheeks,  which  her  blood  was  unable  to  warm.  Profound 
compassion  wrung  them,  so  frightful  was  her  calmness. 
And  they  sought  kind  words  to  say  to  her,  but  she  curtly 
stopped  them. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  said  she ;  "  there  is  nothing  to  be  said. 
Everything  is  ended,  quite  ended." 

Madame  Angelin  sobbed,  Angelin  himself  wiped  his  poor 
fixed,  blurred  eyes.  Marianne  and  Mathieu  shed  tears 
while  retaining  Constance's  hands  in  theirs.  And  she, 
rigid  and  still  unable  to  weep,  refused  consolation,  repeating 
in  monotonous  accents  :  "  It  is  finished  ;  nothing  can  give 
him  back  to  me.  Is  it  not  so  ?  And  thus  there  remains 
nothing ;  all  is  ended,  quite  ended." 

She  needed  to  be  brave,  for  visitors  would  soon  be  arriv- 
ing in  a  stream.  But  a  last  stab  in  the  heart  was  reserved 
for  her.  Beauchene,  who  since  her  arrival  had  begun  to 
cry  again,  could  no  longer  see  to  write.  Moreover,  his 


254  FRUITFULNESS 

hand  trembled,  and  he  had  to  leave  the  writing-table  and 
fling  himself  into  an  armchair,  saying  to  Blaise :  "  There  ! 
sit  down  there,  and  continue  to  write  for  me." 

Then  Constance  saw  Blaise  seat  himself  at  her  son's  writ- 
ing-table, in  his  place,  dip  his  pen  in  the  inkstand  and  begin 
to  write  with  the  very  same  gesture  that  she  had  so  often 
seen  Maurice  make.  That  Blaise,  that  son  of  the  Fro- 
ments !  What !  her  dear  boy  was  not  yet  buried,  and  a 
Froment  already  replaced  him,  even  as  vivacious,  fast- 
growing  plants  overrun  neighboring  barren  fields.  That 
stream  of  life  flowing  around  her,  intent  on  universal  con- 
quest, seemed  yet  more  threatening ;  grandmothers  still 
bore  children,  daughters  suckled  already,  sons  laid  hands 
upon  vacant  kingdoms.  And  she  remained  alone ;  she  had 
but  her  unworthy,  broken-down,  worn-out  husband  beside 
her;  while  Morange,  the  maniac,  incessantly  walking  to 
and  fro,  was  like  the  symbolical  spectre  of  human  distress, 
one  whose  heart  and  strength  and  reason  had  been  carried 
away  in  the  frightful  death  of  his  only  daughter.  And  not 
a  sound  came  from  the  cold  and  empty  works ;  the  works 
themselves  were  dead. 

The  funeral  ceremony  two  days  later  was  an  imposing 
one.  The  five  hundred  workmen  of  the  establishment 
followed  the  hearse,  notabilities  of  all  sorts  made  up  an 
immense  cortege.  It  was  much  noticed  that  an  old  work- 
man, father  Moineaud,  the  oldest  hand  of  the  works,  was 
one  of  the  pall-bearers.  Indeed,  people  thought  it  touch- 
ing, although  the  worthy  old  man  dragged  his  legs  some- 
what, and  looked  quite  out  of  his  element  in  a  frock  coat, 
stiffened  as  he  was  by  thirty  years'  hard  toil.  In  the 
cemetery,  near  the  grave,  Mathieu  felt  surprised  on  being 
approached  by  an  old  lady  who  alighted  from  one  of  the 
mourning-coaches. 

"  I  see,  my  friend,"  said  she,  "  that  you  do  not  recognize 
me." 

He  made  a  gesture  of  apology.  It  was  Seraphine,  still  tall 
and  slim,  but  so  fleshless,  so  withered  that  one  might  have 
thought  she  was  a  hundred  years  old.  Cecile  had  warned 


FRUITFULNESS  255 

Mathieu  of  it,  yet  if  he  had  not  seen  her  himself  he  would 
never  have  believed  that  her  proud  insolent  beauty,  which 
had  seemed  to  defy  time  and  excesses,  could  have  faded  so 
swiftly.  What  frightful,  withering  blast  could  have  swept 
over  her  ? 

"  Ah  !  my  friend,"  she  continued,  "  I  am  more  dead 
than  the  poor  fellow  whom  they  are  about  to  lower  into 
that  grave.  Come  and  have  a  chat  with  me  some  day. 
You  are  the  only  person  to  whom  I  can  tell  everything." 

The  coffin  was  lowered,  the  ropes  gave  out  a  creaking 
sound,  and  there  came  a  little  thud  —  the  last.  Beauchene, 
supported  by  a  relative,  looked  on  with  dim,  vacant  eyes. 
Constance,  who  had  had  the  bitter  courage  to  come,  and 
had  now  wept  all  the  tears  in  her  body,  almost  fainted. 
She  was  carried  away,  driven  back  to  her  home,  which 
would  now  forever  be  empty,  like  one  of  those  stricken 
fields  that  remain  barren,  fated  to  perpetual  sterility. 
Mother  earth  had  taken  back  her  all. 

And  at  Chantebled  Mathieu  and  Marianne  founded, 
created,  increased,  and  multiplied,  again  proving  victorious 
in  the  eternal  battle  which  life  wages  against  death,  thanks 
to  that  continual  increase,  both  of  offspring  and  of  fertile 
land,  which  was  like  their  very  existence,  their  joy  and  their 
strength.  Desire  passed  like  a  gust  of  flame,  desire  divine 
and  fruitful,  since  they  possessed  the  power  of  love,  kindli- 
ness, and  health.  And  their  energy  did  the  rest  —  that  will 
of  action,  that  quiet  bravery  in  the  presence  of  the  labor 
that  is  requisite,  the  labor  that  has  made  and  that  regulates 
the  world. 

Still,  during  those  two  years  it  was  not  without  constant 
battling  that  victory  remained  to  them.  At  last  it  was 
complete.  Piece  by  piece  Seguin  had  sold  the  entire 
estate,  of  which  Mathieu  was  now  king,  thanks  to  his 
prudent  system  of  conquest,  that  of  increasing  his  empire 
by  degrees  as  he  gradually  felt  himself  stronger.  The  for- 
tune which  the  idler  had  disdained  and  dissipated  had  passed 
into  the  hands  of  the  toiler,  the  creator.  There  were  1250 
acres,  spreading  from  horizon  to  horizon ;  there  were  woods 


256  FRUITFULNESS 

intersected  by  broad  meadows,  where  flocks  and  herds  pas- 
tured ;  there  was  fat  land  overflowing  with  harvests,  in  the 
place  of  marshes  that  had  been  drained  ;  there  was  other 
land,  each  year  of  increasing  fertility,  in  the  place  of  the 
moors  which  the  captured  springs  now  irrigated.  The 
Lepailleurs'  uncultivated  enclosure  alone  remained,  as  if 
to  bear  witness  to  the  prodigy,  the  great  human  effort 
which  had  quickened  that  desert  of  sand  and  mud,  whose 
crops  would  henceforth  nourish  so  many  happy  people. 
Mathieu  devoured  no  other  man's  share ;  he  had  brought 
his  share  into  being,  increasing  the  common  wealth,  subju- 
gating yet  another  small  portion  of  this  vast  world,  which 
is  still  so  scantily  peopled  and  so  badly  utilized  for  human 
happiness.  The  farm,  the  homestead,  had  sprung  up  and 
grown  in  the  centre  of  the  estate  like  a  prosperous  town- 
ship, with  inhabitants,  servants,  and  live  stock,  a  perfect 
focus  of  ardent  triumphal  life.  And  what  sovereign  power 
was  that  of  the  happy  fruitfulness  which  had  never  weaned 
of  creating,  which  had  yielded  all  these  beings  and  things 
that  had  been  increasing  and  multiplying  for  twelve  years 
past,  that  invading  town  which  was  but  a  family's  expan- 
sion, those  trees,  those  plants,  those  grain  crops,  those  fruits 
whose  nourishing  stream  ever  rose  under  the  dazzling  sun  ! 
All  pain  and  all  tears  were  forgotten  in  that  joy  of  creation, 
the  accomplishment  of  due  labor,  the  conquest  of  the  future 
conducting  to  the  infinite  of  Action. 

Then,  while  Mathieu  completed  his  work  of  conquest, 
Marianne  during  those  two  years  had  the  happiness  of 
seeing  a  daughter  born  to  her  son  Blaise,  even  while  she 
herself  was  expecting  another  child.  The  branches  of  the 
huge  tree  had  begun  to  fork,  pending  the  time  when  they 
would  ramify  endlessly,  like  the  branches  of  some  great 
royal  oak  spreading  afar  over  the  soil.  There  would  be 
her  children's  children,  her  grandchildren's  children,  the 
whole  posterity  increasing  from  generation  to  generation. 
And  yet  how  carefully  and  lovingly  she  still  assembled 
around  her  her  own  first  brood,  from  Blaise  and  Denis  the 
twins,  now  one-and-twenty,  to  the  last  born,  the  wee 


FRUITFULNESS  257 

creature  who  sucked  in  life  from  her  bosom  with  greedy 
lips.  There  were  some  of  all  ages  in  the  brood  —  a  big 
fellow,  who  was  already  a  father ;  others  who  went  to 
school ;  others  who  still  had  to  be  dressed  in  the  morning ; 
there  were  boys,  Ambroise,  Gervais,  Gregoire,  and  another; 
there  were  girls,  Rose,  nearly  old  enough  to  marry  ;  Claire, 
Louise,  Madeleine,  and  Marguerite,  the  last  of  whom  could 
scarcely  toddle.  And  it  was  a  sight  to  see  them  roam  over 
the  estate  like  a  troop  of  colts,  following  one  another  at 
varied  pace,  according  to  their  growth.  She  knew  that 
she  could  not  keep  them  all  tied  to  her  apron-strings ;  it 
would  be  sufficient  happiness  if  the  farm  kept  two  or  three 
beside  her ;  she  resigned  herself  to  seeing  the  younger  ones 
go  off  some  day  to  conquer  other  lands.  Such  was  the 
law  of  expansion  ;  the  earth  was  the  heritage  of  the  most 
numerous  race.  Since  they  had  number  on  their  side,  they 
would  have  strength  also  ;  the  world  would  belong  to  them. 
The  parents  themselves  had  felt  stronger,  more  united  at 
the  advent  of  each  fresh  child.  If  in  spite  of  terrible  cares 
they  had  always  conquered,  it  was  because  their  love,  their 
toil,  the  ceaseless  travail  of  their  heart  and  will,  gave  them 
the  victory.  Fruitfulness  is  the  great  conqueress ;  from 
her  come  the  pacific  heroes  who  subjugate  the  world  by 
peopling  it.  And  this  time  especially,  when  at  the  lapse 
of  those  two  years  Marianne  gave  birth  to  a  boy,  Nicolas, 
her  eleventh  child,  Mathieu  embraced  her  passionately, 
triumphing  over  every  sorrow  and  every  pang.  Yet  an- 
other child  ;  yet  more  wealth  and  power ;  yet  an  additional 
force  born  into  the  world ;  another  field  ready  for  to-morrow's 
harvest. 

And  'twas  ever  the  great  work,  the  good  work,  the  work 
of  fruitfulness  spreading,  thanks  to  the  earth  and  thanks  to 
woman,  both  victorious  over  destruction,  offering  fresh 
means  of  subsistence  each  time  a  fresh  child  was  born,  and 
loving,  willing,  battling,  toiling  even  amid  suffering,  and 
ever  tending  to  increase  of  life  and  increase  of  hope. 


XV 

AMID  the  deep  mourning  life  slowly  resumed  its  course 
at  the  Beauchene  works.  One  effect  of  the  terrible  blow 
which  had  fallen  on  Beauchene  was  that  for  some  weeks 
he  remained  quietly  at  home.  Indeed,  he  seemed  to  have 
profited  by  the  terrible  lesson,  for  he  no  longer  coined  lies, 
no  longer  invented  pressing  business  journeys  as  a  pretext 
for  dissipation.  He  even  set  to  work  once  more,  and 
busied  himself  about  the  factory,  coming  down  every 
morning  as  in  his  younger  days.  And  in  Blaise  he  found 
an  active  and  devoted  lieutenant,  on  whom  he  each  day 
cast  more  and  more  of  the  heavier  work.  Intimates  were 
most  struck,  however,  by  the  manner  in  which  Beauchene 
and  his  wife  drew  together  again.  Constance  was  most 
attentive  to  her  husband ;  Beauchene  no  longer  left  her, 
and  they  seemed  to  agree  well  together,  leading  a  very 
retired  life  in  their  quiet  house,  where  only  relatives  were 
now  received. 

Constance,  on  the  morrow  of  Maurice's  sudden  death, 
was  like  one  who  has  just  lost  a  limb.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  was  no  longer  whole ;  she  felt  ashamed  of  being, 
as  it  were,  disfigured.  Mingled,  too,  with  her  loving  sor- 
row for  Maurice  there  was  humiliation  at  the  thought  that 
she  was  no  longer  a  mother,  that  she  no  longer  had  any 
heir-apparent  to  her  kingdom  beside  her.  To  think  that 
she  had  been  so  stubbornly  determined  to  have  but  one  son, 
one  child,  in  order  that  he  might  become  the  sole  master  of 
the  family  fortune,  the  all-powerful  monarch  of  the  future. 
Death  had  stolen  him  from  her,  and  the  establishment  now 
seemed  to  be  less  her  own,  particularly  since  that  fellow 
Blaise  and  his  wife  and  his  child,  representing  those  fruit- 

258 


FRUITFULNESS  259 

ful  and  all-invading  Froments,  were  installed  there.  She 
could  no  longer  console  herself  for  having  welcomed  and 
lodged  them,  and  her  one  passionate,  all-absorbing  desire 
was  to  have  another  son,  and  thereby  reconquer  her  empire. 

This  it  was  which  led  to  her  reconciliation  with  her  hus- 
band, and  for  six  months  they  lived  together  on  the  best  of 
terms.  Then,  however,  came  another  six  months,  and  it 
was  evident  that  they  no  longer  agreed  so  well  together,  for 
Beauchene  took  himself  off  at  times  under  the  pretext  of 
seeking  fresh  air,  and  Constance  remained  at  home,  feverish, 
her  eyes  red  with  weeping. 

One  day  Mathieu,  who  had  come  to  Crenelle  to  see  his 
daughter-in-law,  Charlotte,  was  lingering  in  the  garden 
playing  with  little  Berthe,  who  had  climbed  upon  his  knees, 
when  he  was  surprised  by  the  sudden  approach  of  Constance, 
who  must  have  seen  him  from  her  windows.  She  invented 
a  pretext  to  draw  him  into  the  house,  and  kept  him  there 
^nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  she  could  make  up  her 
mind  to  speak  her  thoughts.  Then,  all  at  once,  she  began  : 
"  My  dear  Mathieu,  you  must  forgive  me  for  mentioning  a 
painful  matter,  but  there  are  reasons  why  I  should  do  so. 
Nearly  fifteen  years  ago,  I  know  it  for  a  fact,  my  husband 
had  a  child  by  a  girl  who  was  employed  at  the  works.  And 
I  also  know  that  you  acted  as  his  intermediary  on  that 
occasion,  and  made  certain  arrangements  with  respect  to 
that  girl  and  her  child  —  a  boy,  was  it  not  ?  " 

She  paused  for  a  reply.  But  Mathieu,  stupefied  at  finding 
her  so  well  informed,  and  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  she 
spoke  to  him  of  that  sorry  affair  after  the  lapse  of  so  many 
years,  could  only  make  a  gesture  by  which  he  betrayed  both 
his  surprise  and  his  anxiety. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  she,  u  I  do  not  address  any  reproach  to 
you  ;  I  am  convinced  that  your  motives  were  quite  friendly, 
even  affectionate,  and  that  you  wished  to  hush  up  a  scandal 
which  might  have  been  very  unpleasant  for  me.  More- 
over, I  do  not  desire  to  indulge  in  recriminations  after  so 
long  a  time.  My  desire  is  simply  for  information.  For  a 
long  time  I  did  not  care  to  investigate  the  statements 


26o  FRUITFULNESS 

whereby  I  was  informed  of  the  affair.  But  the  recollection 
of  it  comes  back  to  me  and  haunts  me  persistently,  and  it 
is  natural  that  I  should  apply  to  you.  I  have  never  spoken 
a  word  on  the  subject  to  my  husband,  and  indeed  it  is  best 
for  our  tranquillity  that  I  should  not  attempt  to  extort  a 
detailed  confession  from  him.  One  circumstance  which 
has  induced  me  to  speak  to  you  is  that  on  an  occasion  when 
I  accompanied  Madame  Angelin  to  a  house  in  the  Rue  de 
Miromesnil,  I  perceived  you  there  with  that  girl,  who  had 
another  child  in  her  arms.  So  you  have  not  lost  sight  of 
her,  and  you  must  know  what  she  is  doing,  and  whether 
her  first  child  is  alive,  and  in  that  case  where  he  is,  and 
how  he  is  situated." 

Mathieu  still  refrained  from  replying,  for  Constance's 
increasing  feverishness  put  him  on  his  guard,  and  impelled 
him  to  seek  the  motive  of  such  a  strange  application  on 
the  part  of  one  who  was  as  a  rule  so  proud  and  so  discreet. 
What  could  be  happening  ?  Why  did  she  strive  to  pro- 
voke confidential  revelations  which  might  have  far-reach- 
ing effects  ?  Then,  as  she  closely  scanned  him  with  her 
keen  eyes,  he  sought  to  answer  her  with  kind,  evasive 
words. 

"  You  greatly  embarrass  me.  And,  besides,  I  know 
nothing  likely  to  interest  you.  What  good  would  it  do 
yourself  or  your  husband  to  stir  up  all  the  dead  past  ?  Take 
my  advice,  forget  what  people  may  have  told  you  —  you 
are  so  sensible  and  prudent " 

But  she  interrupted  him,  caught  hold  of  his  hands,  and 
held  them  in  her  warm,  quivering  grasp.  Never  before  had 
she  so  behaved,  forgetting  and  surrendering  herself  so  pas- 
sionately. "  I  repeat,"  said  she,  "  that  nobody  has  any- 
thing to  fear  from  me  —  neither  my  husband,  nor  that  girl, 
nor  the  child.  Cannot  you  understand  me  ?  I  am  simply 
tormented ;  I  suffer  at  knowing  nothing.  Yes,  it  seems  to 
me  that  I  shall  feel  more  at  ease  when  I  know  the  truth. 
It  is  for  myself  that  I  question  you,  for  my  own  peace  of 
mind.  .  .  .  Ah !  if  I  could  only  tell  you,  if  I  could  tell 
you ! " 


FRUITFULNESS  261 

He  began  to  divine  many  things ;  it  was  unnecessary  for 
her  to  be  more  explicit.  He  knew  that  during  the  past 
year  she  and  her  husband  had  been  hoping  for  the  advent 
of  a  second  child,  and  that  none  had  come.  As  a  woman, 
Constance  felt  no  jealousy  of  Norine,  but  as  a  mother  she 
was  jealous  of  her  son.  She  could  not  drive  the  thought 
of  that  child  from  her  mind ;  it  ever  and  ever  returned 
thither  like  a  mocking  insult  now  that  her  hopes  of  replacing 
Maurice  were  fading  fast.  Day  by  day  did  she  dream  more 
and  more  passionately  of  the  other  woman's  son,  wondering 
where  he  was,  what  had  become  of  him,  whether  he  were 
healthy,  and  whether  he  resembled  his  father. 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dear  Mathieu,"  she  resumed,  "  that 
you  will  really  bring  me  relief  by  answering  me.  Is  he 
alive  ?  Tell  me  simply  whether  he  is  alive.  But  do  not 
tell  me  a  lie.  If  he  is  dead  I  think  that  I  shall  feel  calmer. 
And  yet,  good  heavens  !  I  certainly  wish  him  no  evil." 

Then  Mathieu,  who  felt  deeply  touched,  told  her  the 
simple  truth. 

"  Since  you  insist  on  it,  for  the  benefit  of  your  peace  of 
mind,  and  since  it  is  to  remain  entirely  between  us  and  to 
have  no  effect  on  your  home,  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should 
not  confide  to  you  what  I  know.  But  that  is  very  little. 
The  child  was  left  at  the  Foundling  Hospital  in  my  presence. 
Since  then  the  mother,  having  never  asked  for  news,  has 
received  none.  I  need  not  add  diat  your  husband  is  equally 
ignorant,  for  he  always  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
the  child.  Is  the  lad  still  alive  ?  Where  is  he  ?  Those 
are  things  which  I  cannot  tell  you.  A  long  inquiry  would 
be  necessary.  If,  however,  you  wish  for  my  opinion,  I 
think  it  probable  that  he  is  dead,  for  the  mortality  among 
these  poor  cast-off  children  is  very  great." 

Constance  looked  at  him  fixedly.  "  You  are  telling  me 
the  real  truth  ?  You  are  hiding  nothing  ?  "  she  asked. 
And  as  he  began  to  protest,  she  went  on  :  "  Yes,  yes,  I 
have  confidence  in  you.  And  so  you  believe  that  he  is 
dead  !  Ah  !  to  think  of  all  those  children  who  die,  when 
so  many  women  would  be  happy  to  save  one,  to  have  one 


262  FRUITFULNESS 

for  themselves.  Well,  if  you  haven't  been  able  to  tell  me 
anything  positive,  you  have  at  least  done  your  best.  Thank 
you." 

During  the  ensuing  months  Mathieu  often  found  himself 
alone  with  Constance,  but  she  never  reverted  to  the  subject. 
She  seemed  to  set  her  energy  on  forgetting  all  about  it, 
though  he  divined  that  it  still  haunted  her.  Meantime 
things  went  from  bad  to  worse  in  the  Beauchene  house- 
hold. The  husband  gradually  went  back  to  his  former  life 
of  debauchery,  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  of  Constance  to 
keep  him  near  her.  She,  for  her  part,  clung  to  her  fixed 
idea,  and  before  long  she  consulted  Boutan.  There  was  a 
terrible  scene  that  day  between  husband  and  wife  in  the 
doctor's  presence.  Constance  raked  up  the  story  of  Norine 
and  cast  it  in  Beauchene's  teeth,  while  he  upbraided  her  in 
a  variety  of  ways.  However,  Boutan's  advice,  though  fol- 
lowed for  a  time,  proved  unavailing,  and  she  at  last  lost 
confidence  in  him.  Then  she  spent  months  and  months 
in  consulting  one  and  another.  She  placed  herself  in  the 
hands  of  Madame  Bourdieu,  she  even  went  to  see  La  Rouche, 
she  applied  to  all  sorts  of  charlatans,  exasperated  to  fury  at 
finding  that  there  was  no  real  succor  for  her.  She  might 
long  ago  have  had  a  family  had  she  so  chosen.  But  she 
had  elected  otherwise,  setting  all  her  egotism  and  pride  on 
that  only  son  whom  death  had  snatched  away ;  and  now 
the  motherhood  she  longed  for  was  denied  her. 

For  nearly  two  years  did  Constance  battle,  and  at  last  in 
despair  she  was  seized  with  the  idea  of  consulting  Dr.  Gaude. 
He  told  her  the  brutal  truth ;  it  was  useless  for  her  to  address 
herself  to  charlatans;  she  would  simply  be  robbed  by  them; 
there  was  absolutely  no  hope  for  her.  And  Gaude  uttered 
those  decisive  words  in  a  light,  jesting  way,  as  though  sur- 
prised and  amused  by  her  profound  grief.  She  almost 
fainted  on  the  stairs  as  she  left  his  flat,  and  for  a  moment 
indeed  death  seemed  welcome.  But  by  a  great  effort  of 
will  she  recovered  self-possession,  the  courage  to  face  the 
life  of  loneliness  that  now  lay  before  her.  Moreover, 
another  idea  vaguely  dawned  upon  her,  and  the  first  time 


FRUITFULNESS  263 

she  found  herself  alone  with  Mathieu  she  again  spoke  to 
him  of  Norine's  boy. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  she,  "  for  reverting  to  a  painful  sub- 
ject, but  I  am  suffering  too  much  now  that  I  know  there 
is  no  hope  for  me.  I  am  haunted  by  the  thought  of  that 
illegitimate  child  of  my  husband's.  Will  you  do  me  a 
great  service  ?  Make  the  inquiry  you  once  spoke  to  me 
about,  try  to  find  out  if  he  is  alive  or  dead.  I  feel  that 
when  I  know  the  facts  peace  may  perhaps  return  to  me." 

Mathieu  was  almost  on  the  point  of  answering  her  that, 
even  if  this  child  were  found  again,  it  could  hardly  cure  her 
of  her  grief  at  having  no  child  of  her  own.  He  had  divined 
her  agony  at  seeing  Blaise  take  Maurice's  place  at  the  works 
now  that  Beauchene  had  resumed  his  dissolute  life,  and  daily 
intrusted  the  young  man  with  more  and  more  authority. 
Blaise's  home  was  prospering  too ;  Charlotte  had  now  given 
birth  to  a  second  child,  a  boy,  and  thus  fruitfulness  was 
invading  the  place  and  usurpation  becoming  more  and  more 
likely,  since  Constance  could  never  more  have  an  heir  to  bar 
the  road  of  conquest.  Without  penetrating  her  singular 
feelings,  Mathieu  fancied  that  she  perhaps  wished  to  sound 
him  to  ascertain  if  he  were  not  behind  Blaise,  urging  on  the 
work  of  spoliation.  She  possibly  imagined  that  her  request 
would  make  him  anxious,  and  that  he  would  refuse  to  make 
the  necessary  researches.  At  this  idea  he  decided  to  do  as 
she  desired,  if  only  to  show  her  that  he  was  above  all  the 
base  calculations  of  ambition. 

"  I  am  at  your  disposal,  cousin,"  said  he.  "  It  is  enough 
for  me  that  this  inquiry  may  give  you  a  little  relief.  But 
if  the  lad  is  alive,  am  I  to  bring  him  to  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  no,  no,  I  do  not  ask  that !  "  And  then,  gesticu- 
lating almost  wildly,  she  stammered  :  "  I  don't  know  what 
I  want,  but  I  suffer  so  dreadfully  that  I  am  scarce  able  to 
live  !  " 

In  point  of  fact  a  tempest  raged  within  her,  but  she  really 
had  no  settled  plan.  One  could  hardly  say  that  she  really 
thought  of  that  boy  as  a  possible  heir.  In  spite  of  her 
hatred  of  all  conquerors  from  without,  was  it  likely  that  she 


264  FRUITFULNESS 

would  accept  him  as  a  conqueror,  in  the  face  of  her  out- 
raged womanly  feelings  and  her  bourgeois  horror  of  illegiti- 
macy ?  And  yet  if  he  were  not  her  son,  he  was  at  least 
her  husband's.  And  perhaps  an  idea  of  saving  her  empire 
by  placing  the  works  in  the  hands  of  that  heir  was  dimly 
rising  within  her,  above  all  her  prejudices  and  her  rancor. 
But  however  that  might  be,  her  feelings  for  the  time  re- 
mained confused,  and  the  only  clear  thing  was  her  desper- 
ate torment  at  being  now  and  forever  childless,  a  torment 
which  goaded  her  on  to  seek  another's  child  with  the  wild 
idea  of  making  that  child  in  some  slight  degree  her  own. 

Mathieu,  however,  asked  her,  "  Am  I  to  inform  Beau- 
chene  of  the  steps  I  take  ?  " 

"  Do  you  as  you  please,"  she  answered.  "  Still,  that 
would  be  the  best." 

That  same  evening  there  came  a  complete  rupture  be- 
tween herself  and  her  husband.  She  threw  in  Beauchene's 
face  all  the  contempt  and  loathing  that  she  had  felt  for  him 
for  years.  Hopeless  as  she  was,  she  revenged  herself  by 
telling  him  everything  that  she  had  on  her  heart  and  mind. 
And  her  slim  dark  figure,  upborne  by  bitter  rage,  assumed 
such  redoubtable  proportions  in  his  eyes  that  he  felt  fright- 
ened by  her  and  fled.  Henceforth  they  were  husband  and 
wife  in  name  only.  It  was  logic  on  the  march,  it  was  the 
inevitable  disorganization  of  a  household  reaching  its  cli- 
max, it  was  rebellion  against  nature's  law  and  indulgence 
in  vice  leading  to  the  gradual  decline  of  a  man  of  intelli- 
gence, it  was  a  hard  worker  sinking  into  the  sloth  of  so- 
called  pleasure  -,  and  then,  death  having  snatched  away  the 
only  son,  the  home  broke  to  pieces  —  the  wife  —  fated  to 
childlessness,  and  the  husband  driven  away  by  her,  rolling 
through  debauchery  towards  final  ruin. 

But  Mathieu,  keeping  his  promise  to  Constance,  dis- 
creetly began  his  researches.  And  before  he  even  con- 
sulted Beauchene  it  occurred  to  him  to  apply  at  the 
Foundling  Hospital.  If,  as  he  anticipated,  the  child  were 
dead,  the  affair  would  go  no  further.  Fortunately  enough 
he  remembered  all  the  particulars :  the  two  names,  Alexan- 


FRUITFULNESS  265 

dre-Honore,  given  to  the  child,  the  exact  date  of  the  deposit 
at  the  hospital,  indeed  all  the  little  incidents  of  the  day 
when  he  had  driven  thither  with  La  Couteau.  And  when 
he  was  received  by  the  director  of  the  establishment,  and 
had  explained  to  him  the  real  motives  of  his  inquiries,  at 
the  same  time  giving  his  name,  he  was  surprised  by  the 
promptness  and  precision  of  the  answer:  Alexandre-Honore, 
put  out  to  nurse  with  the  woman  Loiseau  at  Rougemont, 
had  first  kept  cows,  and  had  then  tried  the  calling  of  a  lock- 
smith ;  but  for  three  months  past  he  had  been  in  appren- 
ticeship with  a  wheelwright,  a  certain  Montoir,  residing  at 
Saint-Pierre,  a  hamlet  in  the  vicinity  of  Rougemont.  Thus 
the  lad  lived ;  he  was  fifteen  years  old,  and  that  was  all. 
Mathieu  could  obtain  no  further  information  respecting 
either  his  physical  health  or  his  morality. 

When  Mathieu  found  himself  in  the  street  again,  slightly 
dazed,  he  remembered  that  La  Couteau  had  told  him  that 
the  child  would  be  sent  to  Rougemont.  He  had  always 
pictured  it  dying  there,  carried  off  by  the  hurricane  which 
killed  so  many  babes,  and  lying  in  the  silent  village  ceme- 
tery paved  with  little  Parisians.  To  find  the  boy  alive, 
saved  from  the  massacre,  came  like  a  surprise  of  destiny, 
and  brought  vague  anguish,  a  fear  of  some  terrible  catas- 
trophe to  Mathieu's  heart.  At  the  same  time,  since  the  boy 
was  living,  and  he  now  knew  where  to  seek  him,  he  felt 
that  he  must  warn  Beauchene.  The  matter  was  becoming 
serious,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  ought  not  to  carry  the 
inquiry  any  further  without  the  father's  authorization. 

That  same  day,  then,  before  returning  to  Chantebled,  he 
repaired  to  the  factory,  where  he  was  lucky  enough  to  find 
Beauchene,  whom  Blaise's  absence  on  business  had  detained 
there  by  force.  Thus  he  was  in  a  very  bad  humor,  puffing 
and  yawning  and  half  asleep.  It  was  nearly  three  o'clock, 
and  he  declared  that  he  could  never  digest  his  lunch 
properly  unless  he  went  out  afterwards.  The  truth  was 
that  since  his  rupture  with  his  wife  he  had  been  devoting 
his  afternoons  to  paying  attentions  to  a  girl  serving  at  a 
beer-house. 


266  FRUITFULNESS 

"  Ah  !  my  good  fellow,"  he  muttered  as  he  stretched 
himself.  "  My  blood  is  evidently  thickening.  I  must 
bestir  myself,  or  else  I  shall  be  in  a  bad  way." 

However,  he  woke  up  when  Mathieu  had  explained  the 
motive  of  his  visit.  At  first  he  could  scarcely  understand 
it,  for  the  affair  seemed  to  him  so  extraordinary,  so  idiotic. 

"  Eh  ?  What  do  you  say  ?  It  was  my  wife  who  spoke 
to  you  about  that  child  ?  It  is  she  who  has  taken  it  into 
her  head  to  collect  information  and  start  a  search  ? " 

His  fat  apoplectical  face  became  distorted,  his  anger  was 
so  violent  that  he  could  scarcely  stutter.  When  he  heard, 
however,  of  the  mission  with  which  his  wife  had  intrusted 
Mathieu,  he  at  last  exploded  :  "  She  is  mad  !  I  tell  you  that 
she  is  raving  mad  !  Were  such  fancies  ever  seen  ?  Every 
morning  she  invents  something  fresh  to  distract  me !  " 

Without  heeding  this  interruption,  Mathieu  quietly 
finished  his  narrative :  "  And  so  I  have  just  come  back 
from  the  Foundling  Hospital,  where  I  learnt  that  the  boy 
is  alive.  I  have  his  address  —  and  now  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

This  was  the  final  blow.  Beauchene  clenched  his  fists 
and  raised  his  arms  in  exasperation.  "  Ah  !  well,  here's  a 
nice  state  of  things  !  But  why  on  earth  does  she  want  to 
trouble  me  about  that  boy  ?  He  isn't  hers  !  Why  can't 
she  leave  us  alone,  the  boy  and  me  ?  It's  my  affair.  And 
I  ask  you  if  it  is  at  all  proper  for  my  wife  to  send  you 
running  about  after  him  ?  Besides,  I  hope  that  you  are 
not  going  to  bring  him  to  her.  What  on  earth  could  we 
do  with  that  little  peasant,  who  may  have  every  vice  ? 
Just  picture  him  coming  between  us.  I  tell  you  that  she 
is  mad,  mad,  mad  !  " 

He  had  begun  to  walk  angrily  to  and  fro.  All  at  once 
he  stopped  :  "  My  dear  fellow,  you  will  just  oblige  me  by 
telling  her  that  he  is  dead." 

But  he  turned  pale  and  recoiled.  Constance  stood  on 
the  threshold  and  had  heard  him.  For  some  time  past  she 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  stealthily  prowling  around  the 
offices,  like  one  on  the  watch  for  something.  For  a  moment, 
at  the  sight  of  the  embarrassment  which  both  men  displayed, 


FRUITFULNESS  267 

she  remained  silent.  Then,  without  even  addressing  her 
husband,  she  asked  :  "  He  is  alive,  is  he  not  ?  " 

Mathieu  could  but  tell  her  the  truth.  He  answered  with 
a  nod.  Then  Beauchene,  in  despair,  made  a  final  effort : 
"  Come,  be  reasonable,  my  dear.  As  I  was  saying  only 
just  now,  we  don't  even  know  what  this  youngster's 
character  is.  You  surely  don't  want  to  upset  our  life  for 
the  mere  pleasure  of  doing  so  ?  " 

Standing  there,  lean  and  frigid,  she  gave  him  a  harsh 
glance ;  then,  turning  her  back  on  him,  she  demanded  the 
child's  name,  and  the  names  of  the  wheelwright  and  the 
locality.  "  Good,  you  say  Alexandre-Honore,  with  Mon- 
toir  the  wheelwright,  at  Saint-Pierre,  near  Rougemont,  in 
Calvados.  Well,  my  friend,  oblige  me  by  continuing  your 
researches ;  endeavor  to  procure  me  some  precise  informa- 
tion about  this  boy's  habits  and  disposition.  Be  prudent, 
too  ;  don't  give  anybody's  name.  And  thanks  for  what 
you  have  done  already ;  thanks  for  all  you  are  doing  for 
me." 

Thereupon  she  took  herself  off  without  giving  any  further 
explanation,  without  even  telling  her  husband  of  the  vague 
plans  she  was  forming.  Beneath  her  crushing  contempt 
he  had  grown  calm  again.  Why  should  he  spoil  his  life  of 
egotistical  pleasure  by  resisting  that  mad  creature  ?  All 
that  he  need  do  was  to  put  on  his  hat  and  betake  himself 
to  his  usual  diversions.  And  so  he  ended  by  shrugging  his 
shoulders. 

"  After  all,  let  her  pick  him  up  if  she  chooses,  it  won't 
be  my  doing.  Act  as  she  asks  you,  my  dear  fellow ;  con- 
tinue your  researches  and  try  to  content  her.  Perhaps  she 
will  then  leave  me  in  peace.  But  I've  had  quite  enough 
of  it  for  to-day  ;  good-by,  I'm  going  out." 

With  the  view  of  obtaining  some  information  of  Rouge- 
mont, Mathieu  at  first  thought  of  applying  to  La  Couteau, 
if  he  could  find  her  again  ;  for  which  purpose  it  occurred 
to  him  that  he  might  call  on  Madame  Bourdieu  in  the  Rue 
de  Miromesnil.  But  another  and  more  certain  means  sug- 
gested itself.  He  had  been  led  to  renew  his  intercourse 


268  FRUITFULNESS 

with  the  Seguins,  of  whom  he  had  for  a  time  lost  sight ; 
and,  much  to  his  surprise,  he  had  found  Valentine's  former 
maid,  Celeste,  in  the  Avenue  d'Antin  once  more.  Through 
this  woman,  he  thought,  he  might  reach  La  Couteau  direct. 

The  renewal  of  the  intercourse  between  the  Froments 
and  the  Seguins  was  due  to  a  very  happy  chance.  Mathieu's 
son  Ambroise,  on  leaving  college,  had  entered  the  employ- 
ment of  an  uncle  of  Seguin's,  Thomas  du  Hordel,  one  of 
the  wealthiest  commission  merchants  in  Paris ;  and  this  old 
man,  who,  despite  his  years,  remained  very  sturdy,  and  still 
directed  his  business  with  all  the  fire  of  youth,  had  con- 
ceived a  growing  fondness  for  Ambroise,  who  had  great 
mental  endowments  and  a  real  genius  for  commerce.  Du 
Hordel's  own  children  had  consisted  of  two  daughters,  one 
of  whom  had  died  young,  while  the  other  had  married  a 
madman,  who  had  lodged  a  bullet  in  his  head  and  had  left 
her  childless  and  crazy  like  himself.  This  partially  explained 
the  deep  grandfatherly  interest  which  Du  Hordel  took  in 
young  Ambroise,  who  was  the  handsomest  of  all  the 
Froments,  with  a  clear  complexion,  large  black  eyes,  brown 
hair  that  curled  naturally,  and  manners  of  much  refinement 
and  elegance.  But  the  old  man  was  further  captivated 
by  the  young  fellow's  spirit  of  enterprise,  the  four  modern 
languages  which  he  spoke  so  readily,  and  the  evident  mas- 
tery which  he  would  some  day  show  in  the  management 
of  a  business  which  extended  over  the  five  parts  of  the 
world.  In  his  childhood,  among  his  brothers  and  sisters, 
Ambroise  had  always  been  the  boldest,  most  captivating 
and  self-assertive.  The  others  might  be  better  than  he, 
but  he  reigned  over  them  like  a  handsome,  ambitious, 
greedy  boy,  a  future  man  of  gayety  and  conquest.  And 
this  indeed  he  proved  to  be ;  by  the  charm  of  his  victorious 
intellect  he  conquered  old  Du  Hordel  in  a  few  months, 
even  as  later  on  he  was  destined  to  vanquish  everybody 
and  everything  much  as  he  pleased.  His  strength  lay  in 
his  power  of  pleasing  and  his  power  of  action,  a  blending 
of  grace  with  the  most  assiduous  industry. 

About  this  time  Seguin  and  his  uncle,  who  had  never  set 


FRUITFULNESS  269 

foot  in  the  house  of  the  Avenue  d'Antin  since  insanity  had 
reigned  there,  drew  together  again.  Their  apparent  recon- 
ciliation was  the  outcome  of  a  drama  shrouded  in  secrecy. 
Seguin,  hard  up  and  in  debt,  cast  off  by  Nora,  who  divined 
his  approaching  ruin,  and  preyed  upon  by  other  voracious 
creatures,  had  ended  by  committing,  on  the  turf,  one  of 
those  indelicate  actions  which  honest  people  call  thefts. 
Du  Hordel,  on  being  apprised  of  the  matter,  had  hastened 
forward  and  had  paid  what  was  due  in  order  to  avoid  a 
frightful  scandal.  And  he  was  so  upset  by  the  extraordi- 
nary muddle  in  which  he  found  his  nephew's  home,  once 
all  prosperity,  that  remorse  came  upon  him  as  if  he  were 
in  some  degree  responsible  for*  what  had  happened,  since 
he  had  egotistically  kept  away  from  his  relatives  for  his 
own  peace's  sake.  But  he  was  more  particularly  won  over 
by  his  grandniece  Andree,  now  a  delicious  young  girl  well- 
nigh  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  therefore  marriageable. 
She  alone  sufficed  to  attract  him  to  the  house,  and  he  was 
greatly  distressed  by  the  dangerous  state  of  abandonment 
in  which  he  found  her. 

Her  father  continued  dragging  out  his  worthless  life 
away  from  home.  Her  mother,  Valentine,  had  just  emerged 
from  a  frightful  crisis,  her  final  rupture  with  Santerre,  who 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  a  very  wealthy  old  lady, 
which,  after  all,  was  the  logical  destiny  of  such  a  crafty 
exploiter  of  women,  one  who  behind  his  affectation  of 
cultured  pessimism  had  the  vilest  and  greediest  of  natures. 
Valentine,  distracted  by  this  rupture,  had  now  thrown  her- 
self into  religion,  and,  like  her  husband,  disappeared  from 
the  house  for  whole  days.  She  was  said  to  be  an  active 
helpmate  of  old  Count  de  Navarede,  the  president  of  a 
society  of  Catholic  propaganda.  Gaston,  her  son,  having 
left  Saint-Cyr  three  months  previously,  was  now  at  the 
Cavalry  School  of  Saumur,  so  fired  with  passion  for  a 
military  career  that  he  already  spoke  of  remaining  a  bach- 
elor, since  a  soldier's  sword  should  be  his  only  love,  his 
only  spouse.  Then  Lucie,  now  nineteen  years  old,  and 
full  of  mystical  exaltation,  had  already  entered  an  Ursuline 


270  FRUITFULNESS 

convent  for  her  novitiate.  And  in  the  big  empty  home, 
whence  father,  mother,  brother,  and  sister  fled,  there 
remained  but  the  gentle  and  adorable  Andree,  exposed  to 
all  the  blasts  of  insanity  which  even  now  swept  through 
the  household,  and  so  distressed  by  loneliness,  that  her 
uncle,  Du  Hordel,  full  of  compassionate  affection,  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  giving  her  a  husband  in  the  person  of 
young  Ambroise,  the  future  conqueror. 

This  plan  was  helped  on  by  the  renewed  presence  of 
Celeste  the  maid.  Eight  years  had  elapsed  since  Valentine 
had  been  obliged  to  dismiss  this  woman  for  immorality  ;  and 
during  those  eight  years  Celeste,  weary  of  service,  had  tried 
a  number  of  equivocal  callings  of  which  she  did  not  speak. 
She  had  ended  by  turning  up  at  Rougemont,  her  native 
place,  in  bad  health  and  such  a  state  of  wretchedness,  that 
for  the  sake  of  a  living  she  went  out  as  a  charwoman  there. 
Then  she  gradually  recovered  her  health,  and  accumulated 
a  little  stock  of  clothes,  thanks  to  the  protection  of  the 
village  priest,  whom  she  won  over  by  an  affectation  of  ex- 
treme piety.  It  was  at  Rougemont,  no  doubt,  that  she 
planned  her  return  to  the  Seguins,  of  whose  vicissitudes  she 
was  informed  by  La  Couteau,  the  latter  having  kept  up  her 
intercourse  with  Madame  Menoux,  the  little  haberdasher  of 
the  neighborhood. 

Valentine,  shortly  after  her  rupture  with  Santerre,  one 
day  of  furious  despair,  when  she  had  again  dismissed  all  her 
servants,  was  surprised  by  the  arrival  of  Celeste,  who  showed 
herself  so  repentant,  so  devoted,  and  so  serious-minded,  that 
her  former  mistress  felt  touched.  She  made  her  weep  on 
reminding  her  of  her  faults,  and  asking  her  to  swear  before 
God  that  she  would  never  repeat  them ;  for  Celeste  now 
went  to  confession  and  partook  of  the  holy  communion,  and 
carried  with  her  a  certificate  from  the  Cure  of  Rougemont 
vouching  for  her  deep  piety  and  high  morality.  This  cer- 
tificate acted  decisively  on  Valentine,  who,  unwilling  to 
remain  at  home,  and  weary  of  the  troubles  of  housekeeping, 
understood  what  precious  help  she  might  derive  from  this 
woman.  On  her  side  Celeste  certainly  relied  upon  power 


FRUITFULNESS  271 

being  surrendered  to  her.  Two  months  later,  by  favoring 
Lucie's  excessive  partiality  to  religious  practices,  she  had 
helped  her  into  a  convent.  Gaston  showed  himself  only 
when  he  secured  a  few  days'  leave.  And  so  Andree  alone 
remained  at  home,  impeding  by  her  presence  the  great  gen- 
eral pillage  that  Celeste  dreamt  of.  The  maid  therefore 
became  a  most  active  worker  on  behalf  of  her  young  mis- 
tress's marriage. 

Andree,  it  should  be  said,  was  comprised  in  Ambroise's 
universal  conquest.  She  had  met  him  at  her  uncle  Du 
Hordel's  house  for  a  year  before  it  occurred  to  the  latter  to 
marry  them.  She  was  a  very  gentle  girl,  a  little  golden- 
haired  sheep,  as  her  mother  sometimes  said.  And  that 
handsome,  smiling  young  man,  who  evinced  so  much  kind- 
ness towards  her,  became  the  subject  of  her  thoughts  and 
hopes  whenever  she  suffered  from  loneliness  and  abandon- 
ment. Thus,  when  her  uncle  prudently  questioned  her, 
she  flung  herself  into  his  arms,  weeping  big  tears  of  grati- 
tude and  confession.  Valentine,  on  being  approached,  at 
first  manifested  some  surprise.  What,  a  son  of  the  Fro- 
ments !  Those  Froments  had  already  taken  Chantebled 
from  them,  and  did  they  now  want  to  take  one  of  their 
daughters  ?  Then,  amid  the  collapse  of  fortune  and  house- 
hold, she  could  find  no  reasonable  objection  to  urge.  She 
had  never  been  attached  to  Andree.  She  accused  La 
Caliche,  the  nurse,  of  having  made  the  child  her  own. 
That  gentle,  docile,  emotional  little  sheep  was  not  a  Seguin, 
she  often  remarked.  Then,  while  feigning  to  defend  the 
girl,  Celeste  embittered  her  mother  against  her,  and  in- 
spired her  with  a  desire  to  see  the  marriage  promptly  con- 
cluded, in  order  that  she  might  free  herself  from  her  last 
cares  and  live  as  she  wished.  Thus,  after  a  long  chat  with 
Mathieu,  who  promised  his  consent,  it  remained  only  for 
Du  Hordel  to  assure  himself  of  Seguin's  approval  before  an 
application  in  due  form  was  made.  It  was  difficult,  how- 
ever, to  find  Seguin  in  a  suitable  frame  of  mind.  So  weeks 
were  lost,  and  it  became  necessary  to  pacify  Ambroise,  who 
was  very  much  in  love,  and  was  doubtless  warned  by  his 


272  FRUITFULNESS 

all-invading  genius  that  this  loving  and  simple  girl  would 
bring  him  a  kingdom  in  her  apron. 

One  day  when  Mathieu  was  passing  along  the  Avenue 
d'Antin,  it  occurred  to  him  to  call  at  the  house  to  ascer- 
tain if  Seguin  had  re-appeared  there,  for  he  had  suddenly 
taken  himself  off  without  warning,  and  had  gone,  so  it  was 
believed,  to  Italy.  Then,  as  Mathieu  found  himself  alone 
with  Celeste,  the  opportunity  seemed  to  him  an  excellent 
one  to  discover  La  Couteau's  whereabouts.  He  asked  for 
news  of  her,  saying  that  a  friend  of  his  was  in  need  of  a 
good  nurse. 

"  Well,  monsieur,  you  are  in  luck's  way,"  the  maid  re- 
plied ;  "  La  Couteau  is  to  bring  a  child  home  to  our  neigh- 
bor, Madame  Menoux,  this  very  day.  It  is  nearly  four 
o'clock  now,  and  that  is  the  time  when  she  promised  to  come. 
You  know  Madame  Menoux's  place,  do  you  not  ?  It  is 
the  third  shop  in  the  first  street  on  the  left."  Then  she 
apologized  for  being  unable  to  conduct  him  thither  :  "  I  am 
alone,"  she  said;  "we  still  have  no  news  of  the  master. 
On  Wednesdays  Madame  presides  at  the  meeting  of  her 
society,  and  Mademoiselle  Andree  has  just  gone  out  walking 
with  her  uncle." 

Mathieu  hastily  repaired  to  Madame  Menoux's  shop. 
From  a  distance  he  saw  her  standing  on  the  threshold ;  age 
had  made  her  thinner  than  ever;  at  forty  she  was  as  slim 
as  a  young  girl,  with  a  long  and  pointed  face.  Silent  labor 
consumed  her;  for  twenty  years  she  had  been  desperately 
selling  bits  of  cotton  and  packages  of  needles  without  ever 
making  a  fortune,  but  pleased,  nevertheless,  at  being  able  to 
add  her  modest  gains  to  her  husband's  monthly  salary  in 
order  to  provide  him  with  sundry  little  comforts.  His 
rheumatism  would  no  doubt  soon  compel  him  to  relinquish 
his  post  as  a  museum  attendant,  and  how  would  they  be 
able  to  manage  with  his  pension  of  a  few  hundred  francs 
per  annum  if  she  did  not  keep  up  her  business  ?  More- 
over, they  had  met  with  no  luck.  Their  first  child  had 
died,  and  some  years  had  elapsed  before  the  birth  of  a  second 
boy,  whom  they  had  greeted  with  delight,  no  doubt,  though 


FRUITFULNES  273 

he  would  prove  a  heavy  burden  to  them,  especially  as  they 
had  now  decided  to  take  him  back  from  the  country.  Thus 
Mathieu  found  the  worthy  woman  in  a  state  of  great  emo- 
tion, waiting  for  the  child  on  the  threshold  of  her  shop,  and 
watching  the  corner  of  the  avenue. 

"  Oh  !  it  was  Celeste  who  sent  you,  monsieur  !  No,  La 
Couteau  hasn't  come  yet.  I'm  quite  astonished  at  it ;  I 
expect  her  every  moment.  Will  you  kindly  step  inside, 
monsieur,  and  sit  down  ?  " 

He  refused  the  only  chair  which  blocked  up  the  narrow 
passage  where  scarcely  three  customers  could  have  stood  in 
a  row.  Behind  a  glass  partition  one  perceived  the  dim  back 
shop,  which  served  as  kitchen  and  dining-room  and  bed- 
chamber, and  which  received  only  a  little  air  from  a  damp 
inner  yard  which  suggested  a  sewer  shaft. 

"  As  you  see,  monsieur,  we  have  scarcely  any  room," 
continued  Madame  Menoux ;  "  but  then  we  pay  only  eight 
hundred  francs  rent,  and  where  else  could  we  find  a  shop 
at  that  price  ?  And  besides,  I  have  been  here  for  nearly 
twenty  years,  and  have  worked  up  a  little  regular  custom  in 
the  neighborhood.  Oh !  I  don't  complain  of  the  place 
myself,  I'm  not  big,  there  is  always  sufficient  room  for  me. 
And  as  my  husband  comes  home  only  in  the  evening,  and 
then  sits  down  in  his  armchair  to  smoke  his  pipe,  he  isn't 
so  much  inconvenienced.  I  do  all  I  can  for  him,  and  he  is 
reasonable  enough  not  to  ask  me  to  do  more.  But  with  a 
child  I  fear  that  it  will  be  impossible  to  get  on  here." 

The  recollection  of  her  first  boy,  her  little  Pierre,  returned 
to  her,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  Ah  !  monsieur,  that 
was  ten  years  ago,  and  I  can  still  see  La  Couteau  bringing 
him  back  to  me,  just  as  she'll  be  bringing  the  other  by  and 
by.  I  was  told  so  many  tales ;  there  was  such  good  air  at 
Rougemont,  and  the  children  led  such  healthy  lives,  and  my 
boy  had  such  rosy  cheeks,  that  I  ended  by  leaving  him  there 
till  he  was  five  years  old,  regretting  that  I  had  no  room  for 
him  here.  And  no,  you  can't  have  an  idea  of  all  the  pres- 
ents that  the  nurse  wheedled  out  of  me,  of  all  the  money 
that  I  paid  !  It  was  ruination !  And  then,  all  at  once,  I 


274  FRUITFULNESS 

had  just  time  to  send  for  the  boy,  and  he  was  brought 
back  to  me  as  thin  and  pale  and  weak,  as  if  he  had  never 
tasted  good  bread  in  his  life.  Two  months  later  he  died 
in  my  arms.  His  father  fell  ill  over  it,  and  if  we  hadn't 
been  attached  to  one  another,  I  think  we  should  both  have 
gone  and  drowned  ourselves." 

Scarce  wiping  her  eyes  she  feverishly  returned  to  the 
threshold,  and  again  cast  a  passionate  expectant  glance 
towards  the  avenue.  And  when  she  came  back,  having 
seen  nothing,  she  resumed :  "  So  you  will  understand  our 
emotion  when,  two  years  ago,  though  I  was  thirty-seven,  I 
again  had  a  little  boy.  We  were  wild  with  delight,  like  a 
young  married  couple.  But  what  a  lot  of  trouble  and 
worry  !  We  had  to  put  the  little  fellow  out  to  nurse  as  we 
let  the  other  one,  since  we  could  not  possibly  keep  him 
here.  And  even  after  swearing  that  he  should  not  go  to 
Rougemont  we  ended  by  saying  that  we  at  least  knew  the 
place,  and  that  he  would  not  be  worse  off  there  than  else- 
where. Only  we  sent  him  to  La  Vimeux,  for  we  wouldn't 
hear  any  more  of  La  Loiseau  since  she  sent  Pierre  back  in 
such  a  fearful  state.  And  this  time,  as  the  little  fellow  is 
now  two  years  old,  I  was  determined  to  have  him  home 
again,  though  I  don't  even  know  where  I  shall  put  him. 
I've  been  waiting  for  an  hour  now,  and  I  can't  help  trem- 
bling, for  I  always  fear  some  catastrophe." 

She  could  not  remain  in  the  shop,  but  remained  standing 
by  the  doorway,  with  her  neck  outstretched  and  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  street  corner.  All  at  once  a  deep  cry  came 
from  her  :  "  Ah  !  here  they  are  !  " 

Leisurely,  and  with  a  sour,  harassed  air,  La  Couteau 
came  in  and  placed  the  sleeping  child  in  Madame  Menoux's 
arms,  saying  as  she  did  so :  "  Well,  your  George  is  a  tidy 
weight,  I  can  tell  you.  You  won't  say  that  I've  brought 
you  this  one  back  like  a  skeleton." 

Quivering,  her  legs  sinking  beneath  her  for  very  joy,  the 
mother  had  been  obliged  to  sit  down,  keeping  her  child  on 
her  knees,  kissing  him,  examining  him,  all  haste  to  see  if  he 
were  in  good  health  and  likely  to  live.  He  had  a  fat  and 


FRUITFULNESS  275 

rather  pale  face,  and  seemed  big,  though  puffy.  When  she 
had  unfastened  his  wraps,  her  hands  trembling  the  while 
with  nervousness,  she  found  that  he  was  pot-bellied,  with 
small  legs  and  arms. 

"  He  is  very  big  about  the  body,"  she  murmured,  ceasing 
to  smile,  and  turning  gloomy  with  renewed  fears. 

"Ah,  yes!  complain  away!"  said  La  Couteau.  "The 
other  was  too  thin ;  this  one  will  be  too  fat.  Mothers  are 
never  satisfied  !  " 

At  the  first  glance  Mathieu  had  detected  that  the  child 
was  one  of  those  who  are  fed  on  pap,  stuffed  for  economy's 
sake  with  bread  and  water,  and  fated  to  all  the  stomachic 
complaints  of  early  childhood.  And  at  the  sight  of  the  poor 
little  fellow,  Rougemont,  the  frightful  slaughter-place,  with 
its  daily  massacre  of  the  innocents,  arose  in  his  memory, 
such  as  it  had  been  described  to  him  in  years  long  past. 
There  was  La  Loiseau,  whose  habits  were  so  abominably 
filthy  that  her  nurslings  rotted  as  on  a  manure  heap ;  there 
was  La  Vimeux,  who  never  purchased  a  drop  of  milk,  but 
picked  up  all  the  village  crusts  and  made  bran  porridge  for 
her  charges  as  if  they  had  been  pigs;  there  was  La  Gavette 
too,  who,  being  always  in  the  fields,  left  her  nurslings  in 
the  charge  of  a  paralytic  old  man,  who  sometimes  let  them 
fall  into  the  fire ;  and  there  was  La  Cauchois,  who,  having 
nobody  to  watch  the  babes,  contented  herself  with  tying 
them  in  their  cradles,  leaving  them  in  the  company  of  fowls 
which  came  in  bands  to  peck  at  their  eyes.  And  the  scythe 
of  death  swept  by  ;  there  was  wholesale  assassination  ;  doors 
were  left  wide  open  before  rows  of  cradles,  in  order  to  make 
room  for  fresh  bundles  despatched  from  Paris.  Yet  all  did 
not  die ;  here,  for  instance,  was  one  brought  home  again. 
But  even  when  they  came  back  alive  they  carried  with 
them  the  germs  of  death,  and  another  hecatomb  ensued, 
another  sacrifice  to  the  monstrous  god  of  social  egotism. 

"  I'm  tired  out ;  I  must  sit  down,"  resumed  La  Couteau, 
seating  herself  on  the  narrow  bench  behind  the  counter. 
"  Ah !  what  a  trade  !  And  to  think  that  we  are  always 
received  as  if  we  were  heartless  criminals  and  thieves  !  " 


276  FRUITFULNESS 

She  also  had  become  withered,  her  sunburnt,  tanned 
face  suggesting  more  than  ever  the  beak  of  a  bird  of  prey. 
But  her  eyes  remained  very  keen,  sharpened  as  k  were  by 
ferocity.  She  no  doubt  failed  to  get  rich  fast  enough,  for 
she  continued  wailing,  complaining  of  her  calling,  of  the 
increasing  avarice  of  parents,  of  the  demands  of  the  authori- 
ties, of  the  warfare  which  was  being  declared  against  nurse- 
agents  on  all  sides.  Yes,  it  was  a  lost  calling,  said  she,  and 
really  God  must  have  abandoned  her  that  she  should  still  be 
compelled  to  carry  it  on  at  forty-five  years  of  age.  "  It  will 
end  by  killing  me,"  she  added ;  "  I  shall  always  get  more 
kicks  than  money  at  it.  How  unjust  it  is !  Here  have  I 
brought  you  back  a  superb  child,  and  yet  you  look  anything 
but  pleased  —  it's  enough  to  disgust  one  of  doing  one's 
best !  " 

In  thus  complaining  her  object  perhaps  was  to  extract 
from  the  haberdasher  as  large  a  present  as  possible. 
Madame  Menoux  was  certainly  disturbed  by  it  all.  Her 
boy  woke  up  and  began  to  wail  loudly,  and  it  became  nec- 
essary to  give  him  a  little  lukewarm  milk.  At  last,  when 
the  accounts  were  settled,  the  nurse-agent,  seeing  that  she 
would  have  ten  francs  for  herself,  grew  calmer.  She  was 
about  to  take  her  leave  when  Madame  Menoux,  pointing  to 
Mathieu,  exclaimed  :  "  This  gentleman  wished  to  speak 
to  you  on  business." 

Although  La  Couteau  had  not  seen  the  gentleman  for 
several  years  past,  she  had  recognized  him  perfectly  well. 
Still  she  had  not  even  turned  towards  him,  for  she  knew  him 
to  be  mixed  up  in  so  many  matters  that  his  discretion  was  a 
certainty.  And  so  she  contented  herself  with  saying  :  "  If 
monsieur  will  kindly  explain  to  me  what  it  is  I  shall  be  quite 
at  his  service." 

"  I  will  accompany  you,"  replied  Mathieu ;  "  we  can 
speak  together  as  we  walk  along." 

"  Very  good,  that  will  suit  me  well,  for  I  am  rather  in  a 
hurry." 

Once  outside,  Mathieu  resolved  that  he  would  try  no 
ruses  with  her.  The  best  course  was  to  tell  her  plainly 


FRUITFULNESS  277 

what  he  wanted,  and  then  to  buy  her  silence.  At  the  first 
words  he  spoke  she  understood  him.  She  well  remembered 
Norine's  child,  although  in  her  time  she  had  carried  dozens 
of  children  to  the  Foundling  Hospital.  The  particular  cir- 
cumstances of  that  case,  however,  the  conversation  which 
had  taken  place,  her  drive  with  Mathieu  in  a  cab,  had  all 
remained  engraved  on  her  memory.  Moreover,  she  had 
found  that  child  again,  at  Rougemont,  five  days  later;  and 
she  even  remembered  that  her  friend  the  hospital-attendant 
had  left  it  with  La  Loiseau.  But  she  had  occupied  her- 
self no  more  about  it  afterwards ;  and  she  believed  that  it 
was  now  dead,  like  so  many  others.  When  she  heard 
Mathieu  speak  of  the  hamlet  of  Saint-Pierre,  of  Montoir 
the  wheelwright,  and  of  Alexandre-Honore,  now  fifteen, 
who  must  be  in  apprenticeship  there,  she  evinced  great 
surprise. 

"  Oh,  you  must  be  mistaken,  monsieur,"  she  said ;  "  I  know 
Montoir  at  Saint-Pierre  very  well.  And  he  certainly  has  a 
lad  from  the  Foundling,  of  the  age  you  mention,  at  his 
place.  But  that  lad  came  from  La  Cauchois ;  he  is  a  big 
carroty  fellow  named  Richard,  who  arrived  at  our  village 
some  days  before  the  other.  I  know  who  his  mother  was ; 
she  was  an  English  woman  called  Amy,  who  stopped  more 
than  once  at  Madame  Bourdieu's.  That  ginger-haired  lad 
is  certainly  not  your  Norine's  boy.  Alexandre-Honore 
was  dark." 

"Well,  then,"  replied  Mathieu,  "there  must  be  another 
apprentice  at  the  wheelwright's.  My  information  is  precise, 
it  was  given  me  officially." 

After  a  moment's  perplexity  La  Couteau  made  a  gesture 
of  ignorance,  and  admitted  that  Mathieu  might  be  right. 
"  It's  possible,"  said  she  ;  "  perhaps  Montoir  has  two  appren- 
tices. He  does  a  good  business,  and  as  I  haven't  been  to 
Saint-Pierre  for  some  months  now  I  can  say  nothing  certain. 
Well,  and  what  do  you  desire  of  me,  monsieur  ? " 

He  then  gave  her  very  clear  instructions.  She  was  to 
obtain  the  most  precise  information  possible  about  the  lad's 
health,  disposition,  and  conduct,  whether  the  schoolmaster 


278  FRUITFULNESS 

had  always  been  pleased  with  him,  whether  his  employer  was 
equally  satisfied,  and  so  forth.  Briefly,  the  inquiry  was  to 
be  complete.  But,  above  all  things,  she  was  to  carry  it  on 
in  such  a  way  that  nobody  should  suspect  anything,  neither 
the  boy  himself  nor  the  folks  of  the  district.  There  must 
be  absolute  secrecy. 

"  All  that  is  easy,"  replied  La  Couteau,  "  I  understand 
perfectly,  and  you  can  rely  on  me.  I  shall  need  a  little 
time,  however,  and  the  best  plan  will  be  for  me  to  tell  you 
of  the  result  of  my  researches  when  I  next  come  to  Paris. 
And  if  it  suits  you  you  will  find  me  to-day  fortnight,  at  two 
o'clock,  at  Broquette's  office  in  the  Rue  Roquepine.  I  am 
quite  at  home  there,  and  the  place  is  like  a  tomb." 

Some  days  later,  as  Mathieu  was  again  at  the  Beauchene 
works  with  his  son  Blaise,  he  was  observed  by  Constance, 
who  called  him  to  her  and  questioned  him  in  such  direct 
fashion  that  he  had  to  tell  her  what  steps  he  had  taken. 
When  she  heard  of  his  appointment  with  La  Couteau  for 
the  Wednesday  of  the  ensuing  week,  she  said  to  him  in  her 
resolute  way  :  "  Come  and  fetch  me.  I  wish  to  question 
that  woman  myself.  I  want  to  be  quite  certain  on  the 
matter." 

In  spite  of  the  lapse  of  fifteen  years  Broquette's  nurse- 
office  in  the  Rue  Roquepine  had  remained  the  same  as  for- 
merly, except  that  Madame  Broquette  was  dead  and  had 
been  succeeded  by  her  daughter  Herminie.  The  sudden 
loss  of  that  fair,  dignified  lady,  who  had  possessed  such  a 
decorative  presence  and  so  ably  represented  the  high  morality 
and  respectability  of  the  establishment,  had  at  first  seemed 
a  severe  one.  But  it  so  happened  that  Herminie,  a  tall, 
slim,  languid  creature  that  she  was,  gorged  with  novel-read- 
ing, also  proved  in  her  way  a  distinguished  figurehead  for 
the  office.  She  was  already  thirty  and  was  still  unmarried, 
feeling  indeed  nothing  but  loathing  for  all  the  mothers  laden 
with  whining  children  by  whom  she  was  surrounded.  More- 
over, M.  Broquette,  her  father,  though  now  more  than  five- 
and-seventy,  secretely  remained  the  all-powerful,  energetic 
director  of  the  place,  discharging  all  needful  police  duties, 


FRUITFULNESS  279 

drilling  new  nurses  like  recruits,  remaining  ever  on  the  watch 
and  incessantly  perambulating  the  three  floors  of  his  suspi- 
cious, dingy  lodging-house. 

La  Couteau  was  waiting  for  Mathieu  in  the  doorway. 
On  perceiving  Constance,  whom  she  did  not  know,  for  she 
had  never  previously  met  her,  she  seemed  surprised.  Who 
could  that  lady  be  ?  what  had  she  to  do  with  the  affair  ? 
However,  she  promptly  extinguished  the  bright  gleam  of 
curiosity  which  for  a  moment  lighted  up  her  eyes ;  and  as 
Herminie,  with  distinguished  nonchalance,  was  at  that 
moment  exhibiting  a  party  of  nurses  to  two  gentlemen  in 
the  office,  she  took  her  visitors  into  the  empty  refectory, 
where  the  atmosphere  was  as  usual  tainted  by  a  horrible 
stench  of  cookery. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  monsieur  and  madame,"  she 
exclaimed, "  but  there  is  no  other  room  free  just  now.  The 
place  is  full." 

Then  she  carried  her  keen  glances  from  Mathieu  to  Con- 
stance, preferring  to  wait  until  she  was  questioned,  since 
another  person  was  now  in  the  secret. 

"  You  can  speak  out,"  said  Mathieu.  "  Did  you  make 
the  inquiries  I  spoke  to  you  about  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  monsieur.  They  were  made,  and  properly 
made,  I  think." 

"  Then  tell  us  the  result :  I  repeat  that  you  can  speak 
freely  before  this  lady." 

"  Oh  !  monsieur,  it  won't  take  me  long.  You  were 
quite  right :  there  were  two  apprentices  at  the  wheel- 
wright's at  Saint-Pierre,  and  one  of  them  was  Alexandre- 
Honore,  the  pretty  blonde's  child,  the  same  that  we  took 
together  over  yonder.  He  had  been  there,  I  found,  barely 
two  months,  after  trying  three  or  four  other  callings,  and 
that  explains  my  ignorance  of  the  circumstance.  Only 
he's  a  lad  who  can  stay  nowhere,  and  so  three  weeks  ago 
he  took  himself  off." 

Constance  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of  anxiety  : 
"  What !  took  himself  off?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,  I  mean  that  he  ran  away,  and  this  time 


280  FRUITFULNESS 

it  is  quite  certain  that  he  has  left  the  district,  for  he  disap- 
peared with  three  hundred  francs  belonging  to  Montoir, 
his  master." 

La  Couteau's  dry  voice  rang  as  if  it  were  an  axe  dealing 
a  deadly  blow.  Although  she  could  not  understand  the 
lady's  sudden  pallor  and  despairing  emotion,  she  certainly 
seemed  to  derive  cruel  enjoyment  from  it. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  your  information  ? "  resumed 
Constance,  struggling  against  the  facts.  "  That  is  perhaps 
mere  village  tittle-tattle." 

"  Tittle-tattle,  madame  ?  Oh  !  when  I  undertake  to  do 
anything  I  do  it  properly.  I  spoke  to  the  gendarmes. 
They  have  scoured  the  whole  district,  and  it  is  certain  that 
Alexandre-Honore  left  no  address  behind  him  when  he 
went  off  with  those  three  hundred  francs.  He  is  still  on 
the  run.  As  for  that  I'll  stake  my  name  on  it." 

This  was  indeed  a  hard  blow  for  Constance.  That  lad, 
whom  she  fancied  she  had  found  again,  of  whom  she 
dreamt  incessantly,  and  on  whom  she  had  based  so  many 
unacknowledgable  plans  of  vengeance,  escaped  her,  van- 
ished once  more  into  the  unknown  !  She  was  distracted 
by  it  as  by  some  pitiless  stroke  of  fate,  some  fresh  and 
irreparable  defeat.  However,  she  continued  the  interrog- 
atory. 

"  Surely  you  did  not  merely  see  the  gendarmes  ?  you 
were  instructed  to  question  everybody." 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  did,  madame.  I  saw  the 
schoolmaster,  and  I  spoke  to  the  other  persons  who  had 
employed  the  lad.  They  all  told  me  that  he  was  a  good- 
for-nothing.  The  schoolmaster  remembered  that  he  had 
been  a  liar  and  a  bully.  Now  he's  a  thief;  that  makes 
him  perfect.  I  can't  say  otherwise  than  I  have  said,  since 
you  wanted  to  know  the  plain  truth." 

La  Couteau  thus  emphasized  her  statements  on  seeing 
that  the  lady's  suffering  increased.  And  what  strange  suf- 
fering it  was ;  a  heart-pang  at  each  fresh  accusation,  as  if 
her  husband's  illegitimate  child  had  become  in  some  degree 
her  own  !  She  ended  indeed  by  silencing  the  nurse-agent. 


FRUITFULNESS  281 

u  Thank  you.  The  boy  is  no  longer  at  Rougemont, 
that  is  all  we  wished  to  know." 

La  Couteau  thereupon  turned  to  Mathieu,  continuing 
her  narrative,  in  order  to  give  him  his  money's  worth. 

"  I  also  made  the  other  apprentice  talk  a  bit,"  said  she  ; 
"  you  know,  that  big  carroty  fellow,  Richard,  whom  I 
spoke  to  you  about.  He's  another  whom  I  wouldn't  will- 
ingly trust.  But  it's  certain  that  he  doesn't  know  where 
his  companion  has  gone.  The  gendarmes  think  that  Alex- 
andre  is  in  Paris." 

Thereupon  Mathieu  in  his  turn  thanked  the  woman,  and 
handed  her  a  bank-note  for  fifty  francs  —  a  gift  which 
brought  a  smile  to  her  face  and  rendered  her  obsequious, 
and,  as  she  herself  put  it,  "  as  discreetly  silent  as  the 
grave."  Then,  as  three  nurses  came  into  the  refectory, 
and  Monsieur  Broquette  could  be  heard  scrubbing  another's 
hands  in  the  kitchen,  by  way  of  teaching  her  how  to 
cleanse  herself  of  her  native  dirt,  Constance  felt  nausea 
arise  within  her,  and  made  haste  to  follow  her  companion 
away.  Once  in  the  street,  instead  of  entering  the  cab 
which  was  waiting,  she  paused  pensively,  haunted  by  La 
Couteau's  final  words. 

"  Did  you  hear  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  That  wretched 
lad  may  be  in  Paris." 

"  That  is  probable  enough ;  they  all  end  by  stranding 
here." 

Constance  again  hesitated,  reflected,  and  finally  made  up 
her  mind  to  say  in  a  somewhat  tremulous  voice  :  "  And 
the  mother,  my  friend  ;  you  know  where  she  lives,  don't 
you  ?  Did  you  not  tell  me  that  you  had  concerned  your- 
self about  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

11  Then  listen  —  and  above  all,  don't  be  astonished;  pity 
me,  for  I  am  really  suffering.  An  idea  has  just  taken  pos- 
session of  me ;  it  seems  to  me  that  if  the  boy  is  in  Paris,  he 
may  have  found  his  mother.  Perhaps  he  is  with  her,  or  she 
may  at  least  know  where  he  lodges.  Oh  !  don't  tell  me  that 
it  is  impossible.  On  the  contrary,  everything  is  possible." 


282  FRUITFULNESS 

Surprised  and  moved  at  seeing  one  who  usually  evinced 
so  much  calmness  now  giving  way  to  such  fancies  as  these, 
Mathieu  promised  that  he  would  make  inquiries.  Never- 
theless, Constance  did  not  get  into  the  cab,  but  continued 
gazing  at  the  pavement.  And  when  she  once  more  raised 
her  eyes,  she  spoke  to  him  entreatingly,  in  an  embarrassed, 
humble  manner :  "  Do  you  know  what  we  ought  to  do  ? 
Excuse  me,  but  it  is  a  service  I  shall  never  forget.  If  I 
could  only  know  the  truth  at  once  it  might  calm  me  a 
little.  Well,  let  us  drive  to  that  woman's  now.  Oh  !  I 
won't  go  up ;  you  can  go  alone,  while  I  wait  in  the  cab  at 
the  street  corner.  And  perhaps  you  will  obtain  some  news." 

It  was  an  insane  idea,  and  he  was  at  first  minded  to  prove 
this  to  her.  Then,  on  looking  at  her,  she  seemed  to  him 
so  wretched,  so  painfully  tortured,  that  without  a  word,  mak- 
ing indeed  but  a  kindly  gesture  of  compassion,  he  consented. 
And  the  cab  carried  them  away. 

The  large  room  in  which  Norine  and  Cecile  lived  together 
was  at  Crenelle,  near  the  Champ  de  Mars,  in  a  street  at  the 
end  of  the  Rue  de  la  Federation.  They  had  been  there  for 
nearly  six  years  now,  and  in  the  earlier  days  had  experienced 
much  worry  and  wretchedness.  But  the  child  whom  they 
had  to  feed  and  save  had  on  his  side  saved  them  also.  The 
motherly  feelings  slumbering  in  Norine's  heart  had  awak- 
ened with  passionate  intensity  for  that  poor  little  one  as  soon 
as  she  had  given  him  the  breast  and  learnt  to  watch  over 
him  and  kiss  him.  And  it  was  also  wondrous  to  see  how 
that  unfortunate  creature  Cecile  regarded  the  child  as  in 
some  degree  her  own.  He  had  indeed  two  mothers,  whose 
thoughts  were  for  him  alone.  If  Norine,  during  the  first 
few  months,  had  often  wearied  of  spending  her  days  in  past- 
ing little  boxes  together,  if  even  thoughts  of  flight  had  at 
times  come  to  her,  she  had  always  been  restrained  by  the 
puny  arms  that  were  clasped  around  her  neck.  And  now 
she  had  grown  calm,  sensible,  diligent,  and  very  expert 
at  the  light  work  which  Cecile  had  taught  her.  It  was  a 
sight  to  see  them  both,  gay  and  closely  united  in  their  little 
home,  which  was  like  a  convent  cell,  spending  their  days  at 


FRUITFULNESS  283 

their  little  table ;  while  between  them  was  their  child,  their 
one  source  of  life,  of  hard-working  courage  and  happiness. 

Since  they  had  been  living  thus  they  had  made  but  one 
good  friend,  and  this  was  Madame  Angelin.  As  a  delegate 
of  the  Poor  Relief  Service,  intrusted  with  one  of  the  Gre- 
nelle  districts,  Madame  Angelin  had  found  Norine  among 
the  pensioners  over  whom  she  was  appointed  to  watch.  A 
feeling  of  affection  for  the  two  mothers,  as  she  called  the 
sisters,  had  sprung  up  within  her,  and  she  had  succeeded  in 
inducing  the  authorities  to  prolong  the  child's  allowance  of 
thirty  francs  a  month  for  a  period  of  three  years.  Then  she 
had  obtained  scholastic  assistance  for  him,  not  to  mention 
frequent  presents  which  she  brought  —  clothes,  linen,  and 
even  money  —  for  apart  from  official  matters,  charitable 
people  often  intrusted  her  with  fairly  large  sums,  which  she 
distributed  among  the  most  meritorious  of  the  poor  mothers 
whom  she  visited.  And  even  nowadays  she  occasionally 
called  on  the  sisters,  well  pleased  to  spend  an  hour  in  that 
nook  of  quiet  toil,  which  the  laughter  and  the  play  of  the  child 
enlivened.  She  there  felt  herself  to  be  far  away  from  the 
world,  and  suffered  less  from  her  own  misfortunes.  And 
Norine  kissed  her  hands,  declaring  that  without  her  the 
little  household  of  the  two  mothers  would  never  have  man- 
aged to  exist. 

When  Mathieu  appeared  there,  cries  of  delight  arose. 
He  also  was  a  friend,  a  saviour  —  the  one  who,  by  first  tak- 
ing and  furnishing  the  large  room,  had  founded  the  house- 
hold. It  was  a  very  clean  room,  almost  coquettish  with  its 
white  curtains,  and  rendered  very  cheerful  by  its  two  large 
windows,  which  admitted  the  golden  radiance  of  the  after- 
noon sun.  Norine  and  Cecile  were  working  at  the  table, 
cutting  out  cardboard  and  pasting  it  together,  while  the 
little  one,  who  had  come  home  from  school,  sat  between 
them  on  a  high  chair,  gravely  handling  a  pair  of  scissors  and 
fully  persuaded  that  he  was  helping  them. 

"  Oh  !  is  it  you  ?  How  kind  of  you  to  come  to  see  us  ! 
Nobody  has  called  for  five  days  past.  Oh  !  we  don't  com- 
plain of  it.  We  are  so  happy  alone  together  !  Since  Irma 


284  FRUITFULNESS 

married  a  clerk  she  has  treated  us  with  disdain.  Euphrasie 
can  no  longer  come  down  her  stairs.  Victor  and  his  wife 
live  so  far  away.  And  as  for  that  rascal  Alfred,  he  only 
comes  up  here  to  see  if  he  can  find  something  to  steal. 
Mamma  called  five  days  ago  to  tell  us  that  papa  had  nar- 
nowly  escaped  being  killed  at  the  works  on  the  previous 
day.  Poor  mamma  !  she  is  so  worn  out  that  before  long 
she  won't  be  able  to  take  a  step." 

While  the  sisters  thus  rattled  on  both  together,  one  be- 
ginning a  sentence  and  the  other  finishing  it,  Mathieu  looked 
at  Norine,  who,  thanks  to  that  peaceful  and  regular  life,  had 
regained  in  her  thirty-sixth  year  a  freshness  of  complexion 
that  suggested  a  superb,  mature  fruit  gilded  by  the  sun. 
And  even  the  slender  Cecile  had  acquired  strength,  the 
strength  which  love's  energy  can  impart  even  to  a  childish 
form. 

All  at  once,  however,  she  raised  a  loud  exclamation  of 
horror:  "  Oh  !  he  has  hurt  himself,  the  poor  little  fellow." 
And  at  once  she  snatched  the  scissors  from  the  child,  who 
sat  there  laughing  with  a  drop  of  blood  at  the  tip  of  one  of 
his  fingers. 

"  Oh !  good  Heavens,"  murmured  Norine,  who  had  turned 
quite  pale,  "  I  feared  that  he  had  slit  his  hand." 

For  a  moment  Mathieu  wondered  if  he  would  serve  any 
useful  purpose  by  fulfilling  the  strange  mission  he  had  under- 
taken. Then  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  might  be  as  well  to 
say  at  least  a  word  of  warning  to  the  young  woman  who 
had  grown  so  calm  and  quiet,  thanks  to  the  life  of  work 
which  she  had  at  last  embraced.  And  he  proceeded  very 
prudently,  only  revealing  the  truth  by  slow  degrees.  Nev- 
ertheless, there  came  a  moment  when,  after  reminding 
Norine  of  the  birth  of  Alexandre-Honore,  it  became  neces- 
sary for  him  to  add  that  the  boy  was  living. 

The  mother  looked  at  Mathieu  in  evident  consternation. 
"  He  is  living,  living  !  Why  do  you  tell  me  that  ?  I  was 
so  pleased  at  knowing  nothing." 

"  No  doubt ;  but  it  is  best  that  you  should  know.  I 
have  even  been  assured  that  he  must  now  be  in  Paris,  and 


FRUITFULNESS  285 

I  wondered  whether  he  might  have  found  you,  and  have 
come  to  see  you." 

At  this  she  lost  all  self-possession.  "  What !  Have 
come  to  see  me !  Nobody  has  been  to  see  me.  Do  you 
think,  then,  that  he  might  come  ?  But  I  don't  want  him 
to  do  so  !  I  should  go  mad  !  A  big  fellow  of  fifteen  fall- 
ing on  me  like  that  —  a  lad  I  don't  know  and  don't  care 
for !  Oh  !  no,  no ;  prevent  it,  I  beg  of  you ;  I  couldn't 
—  I  couldn't  bear  it !  " 

With  a  gesture  of  utter  distraction  she  had  burst  into 
tears,  and  had  caught  hold  of  the  little  one  near  her,  press- 
ing him  to  her  breast  as  if  to  shield  him  from  the  other,  the 
unknown  son,  the  stranger,  who  by  his  resurrection  threat- 
ened to  thrust  himself  in  some  degree  in  the  younger  lad's 
place. 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  have  but  one  child  ;  there 
is  only  one  I  love ;  I  don't  want  any  other." 

Cecile  had  risen,  greatly  moved,  and  desirous  of  bringing 
her  sister  to  reason.  Supposing  that  the  other  son  should 
come,  how  could  she  turn  him  out  of  doors  ?  At  the  same 
time,  though  her  pity  was  aroused  for  the  abandoned  one, 
she  also  began  to  bewail  the  loss  of  their  happiness.  It 
became  necessary  for  Mathieu  to  reassure  them  both  by 
saying  that  he  regarded  such  a  visit  as  most  improbable. 
Without  telling  them  the  exact  truth,  he  spoke  of  the  elder 
lad's  disappearance,  adding,  however,  that  he  must  be  igno- 
rant even  of  his  mother's  name.  Thus,  when  he  left  the 
sisters,  they  already  felt  relieved  and  had  again  turned  to 
their  little  boxes  while  smiling  at  their  son,  to  whom  they 
had  once  more  intrusted  the  scissors  in  order  that  he  might 
cut  out  some  paper  men. 

Down  below,  at  the  street  corner,  Constance,  in  great 
impatience,  was  looking  out  of  the  cab  window,  watching 
the  house-door. 

"  Well  ? "  she  asked,  quivering,  as  soon  as  Mathieu  was 
near  her. 

"  Well,  the  mother  knows  nothing  and  has  seen  nobody. 
It  was  a  foregone  conclusion." 


286  FRUITFULNESS 

She  sank  down  as  if  from  some  supreme  collapse,  and 
her  ashen  face  became  quite  distorted.  "  You  are  right,  it 
was  certain,"  said  she  \  "  still  one  always  hopes."  And 
with  a  gesture  of  despair  she  added :  "  It  is  all  ended  now. 
Everything  fails  me,  my  last  dream  is  dead." 

Mathieu  pressed  her  hand  and  remained  waiting  for  her 
to  give  an  address  in  order  that  he  might  transmit  it  to  the 
driver.  But  she  seemed  to  have  lost  her  head  and  to  have 
forgotten  where  she  wished  to  go.  Then,  as  she  asked  him 
if  he  would  like  her  to  set  him  down  anywhere,  he  replied 
that  he  wished  to  call  on  the  Seguins.  The  fear  of  finding 
herself  alone  again  so  soon  after  the  blow  which  had  fallen 
on  her  thereupon  gave  her  the  idea  of  paying  a  visit  to 
Valentine,  whom  she  had  not  seen  for  some  time  past. 

"  Get  in,"  she  said  to  Mathieu ;  "  we  will  go  to  the 
Avenue  d'Antin  together." 

The  vehicle  rolled  off"  and  heavy  silence  fell  between 
them ;  they  had  not  a  word  to  say  to  one  another.  How- 
ever, as  they  were  reaching  their  destination,  Constance 
exclaimed  in  a  bitter  voice  :  "  You  must  give  my  husband 
the  good  news,  and  tell  him  that  the  boy  has  disappeared. 
Ah  !  what  a  relief  for  him  !  " 

Mathieu,  on  calling  in  the  Avenue  d'Antin,  had  hoped 
to  find  the  Seguins  assembled  there.  Seguin  himself  had 
returned  to  Paris,  nobody  knew  whence,  a  week  previously, 
when  Andree's  hand  had  been  formally  asked  of  him  ;  and 
after  an  interview  with  his  uncle  Du  Hordel  he  had  evinced 
great  willingness  and  cordiality.  Indeed,  the  wedding  had 
immediately  been  fixed  for  the  month  of  May,  when  the 
Froments  also  hoped  to  marry  off  their  daughter  Rose. 
The  two  weddings,  it  was  thought,  might  take  place  at 
Chantebled  on  the  same  day,  which  would  be  delightful. 
This  being  arranged,  Ambroise  was  accepted  as  fiance,  and 
to  his  great  delight  was  able  to  call  at  the  Seguins'  every 
day,  about  five  o'clock,  to  pay  his  court  according  to  estab- 
lished usage.  It  was  on  account  of  this  that  Mathieu  fully 
expected  to  find  the  whole  family  at  home. 

When  Constance  asked  for  Valentine,  however,  a  foot- 


FRUITFULNESS  287 

man  informed  her  that  Madame  had  gone  out.  And  when 
Mathieu  in  his  turn  asked  for  Seguin,  the  man  replied  that 
Monsieur  was  also  absent.  Only  Mademoiselle  was  at 
home  with  her  betrothed.  On  learning  this  the  visitors 
went  upstairs. 

"  What  !  are  you  left  all  alone  ?  "  exclaimed  Mathieu  on 
perceiving  the  young  couple  seated  side  by  side  on  a  little 
couch  in  the  big  room  on  the  first  floor,  which  Seguin  had 
once  called  his  "  cabinet." 

"  Why,  yes,  we  are  alone  in  the  house,"  Andree  answered 
with  a  charming  laugh.  "  We  are  very  pleased  at  it." 

They  looked  adorable,  thus  seated  side  by  side  —  she  so 
gentle,  of  such  tender  beauty  —  he  with  all  the  fascinating 
charm  that  was  blended  with  his  strength. 

"  Isn't  Celeste  there  at  any  rate  ?  "  again  inquired 
Mathieu. 

"  No,  she  has  disappeared  we  don't  know  where."  And 
again  they  laughed  like  free  frolicsome  birds  ensconced  in 
the  depths  of  some  lonely  forest. 

"  Well,  you  cannot  be  very  lively  all  alone  like  this." 

"  Oh !  we  don't  feel  at  all  bored,  we  have  so  many 
things  to  talk  about.  And  then  we  look  at  one  another. 
And  there  is  never  an  end  to  it  all." 

Though  her  heart  bled,  Constance  could  not  help  admir- 
ing them.  Ah,  to  think  of  it  !  Such  grace,  such  health, 
such  hope  !  While  in  her  home  all  was  blighted,  withered, 
destroyed,  that  race  of  Froments  seemed  destined  to  increase 
forever!  For  this  again  was  a  conquest  —  those  two 
children  left  free  to  love  one  another,  henceforth  alone  in 
that  sumptuous  mansion  which  to-morrow  would  belong 
to  them.  Then,  at  another  thought,  Constance  turned 
towards  Mathieu :  "  Are  you  not  also  marrying  your  eldest 
daughter  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  Rose,"  Mathieu  gayly  responded.  "We  shall 
have  a  grand  fete  at  Chantebled  next  May  !  You  must 
all  of  you  come  there." 

'Twas  indeed  as  she  had  thought :  numbers  prevailed, 
life  proved  victorious.  Chantebled  had  been  conquered 


288  FRUITFULNESS 

from  the  Seguins,  and  now  their  very  house  would  soon  be 
invaded  by  Ambroise,  while  the  Beauchene  works  themselves 
had  already  half  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Blaise. 

"We  will  go,"   she  answered,  quivering.     "And  may 
your  good  luck  continue  —  that  is  what  I  wish  you." 


XVI 

AMID  the  general  delight  attending  the  double  wedding 
which  was  to  prove,  so  to  say,  a  supreme  celebration  of  the 
glory  of  Chantebled,  it  had  occurred  to  Mathieu's  daughter 
Rose  to  gather  the  whole  family  together  one  Sunday,  ten 
days  before  the  date  appointed  for  the  ceremony.  She  and 
her  betrothed,  followed  by  the  whole  family,  were  to  repair 
to  Janville  station  in  the  morning  to  meet  the  other  affianced 
pair,  Ambroise  and  Andree,  who  were  to  be  conducted  in 
triumph  to  the  farm  where  they  would  all  lunch  together. 
It  would  be  a  kind  of  wedding  rehearsal,  she  exclaimed  with 
her  hearty  laugh  ;  they  would  be  able  to  arrange  the  pro- 
gramme for  the  great  day.  And  her  idea  enraptured  her  to 
such  a  point,  she  seemed  to  anticipate  so  much  delight  from 
this  preliminary  festival,  that  Mathieu  and  Marianne  con- 
sented to  it. 

Rose's  marriage  was  like  the  supreme  blossoming  of 
years  of  prosperity,  and  brought  a  finishing  touch  to  the 
happiness  of  the  home.  She  was  the  prettiest  of  Mathieu's 
daughters,  with  dark  brown  hair,  round  gilded  cheeks, 
merry  eyes,  and  charming  mouth.  And  she  had  the  most 
equable  of  dispositions,  her  laughter  ever  rang  out  so 
heartily  !  She  seemed  indeed  to  be  the  very  soul,  the  good 
fairy,  of  that  farm  teeming  with  busy  life.  But  beneath 
the  invariable  good  humor  which  kept  her  singing  from 
morning  till  night  there  was  much  common  sense  and 
energy  of  affection,  as  her  choice  of  a  husband  showed. 
Eight  years  previously  Mathieu  had  engaged  the  services  of 
one  Frederic  Berthaud,  the  son  of  a  petty  farmer  of  the 
neighborhood.  This  sturdy  young  fellow  had  taken  a 
passionate  interest  in  the  creative  work  of  Chantebled, 
o  289 


290  FRUITFULNESS 

learning  and  working  there  with  rare  activity  and   intelli- 

gence.      He  had  no  means  of  his  own  at  all.      Rose,  who 
7 

had  grown  up  near  him,  knew  however  that  he  was  her 
father's  preferred  assistant,  and  when  he  returned  to  the 
farm  at  the  expiration  of  his  military  service  she,  divining 
that  he  loved  her,  forced  him  to  acknowledge  it.  Thus  she 
settled  her  own  future  life ;  she  wished  to  remain  near  her 
parents,  on  that  farm  which  had  hitherto  held  all  her  happi- 
ness. Neither  Mathieu  nor  Marianne  was  surprised  at  this. 
Deeply  touched,  they  signified  their  approval  of  a  choice  in 
which  affection  for  themselves  had  so  large  a  part.  The 
family  ties  seemed  to  be  drawn  yet  closer,  and  increase  of 
joy  came  to  the  home. 

So  everything  was  settled,  and  it  was  agreed  that  on 
the  appointed  Sunday  Ambroise  should  bring  his  betrothed 
Andree  and  her  mother,  Madame  Seguin,  to  Janville  by  the 
ten  o'clock  train.  A  couple  of  hours  previously  Rose  had 
already  begun  a  battle  with  the  object  of  prevailing  upon 
the  whole  family  to  repair  to  the  railway  station  to  meet 
the  affianced  pair. 

"  But  come,  my  children,  it  is  unreasonable,"  Marianne 
gently  exclaimed.  "  It  is  necessary  that  somebody  should 
stay  at  home.  I  shall  keep  Nicolas  here,  for  there  is  no 
need  to  send  children  of  five  years  old  scouring  the  roads. 
I  shall  also  keep  Gervais  and  Claire.  But  you  may  take 
all  the  others  if  you  like,  and  your  father  shall  lead  the 
way." 

Rose,  however,  still  merrily  laughing,  clung  to  her  plan. 
"  No,  no,  mamma,  you  must  come  as  well ;  everybody 
must  come ;  it  was  promised.  Ambroise  and  Andree,  you 
see,  are  like  a  royal  couple  from  a  neighboring  kingdom. 
My  brother  Ambroise,  having  won  the  hand  of  a  foreign 
princess,  is  going  to  present  her  to  us.  And  so,  to  do  them 
the  honors  of  our  own  empire,  we,  Frederic  and  I,  must  go 
to  meet  them,  attended  by  the  whole  Court.  You  form 
the  Court  and  you  cannot  do  otherwise  than  come.  Ah  ! 
what  a  fine  sight  it  will  be  when  we  spread  out  through  the 
country  on  our  way  home  again  !  " 


FRUITFULNESS  291 

Marianne,  amused  by  her  daughter's  overflowing  gayety, 
ended  by  laughing  and  giving  way. 

"  This  will  be  the  order  of  the  march,"  resumed  Rose. 
"  Oh  !  I've  planned  everything,  as  you  will  see  !  As  for 
Frederic  and  myself,  we  shall  go  on  our  bicycles — that  is 
the  most  modern  style.  We  will  also  take  my  maids  of 
honor,  my  little  sisters  Louise,  Madeleine,  and  Marguerite, 
eleven,  nine,  and  seven  years  old,  on  their  bicycles.  They 
will  look  very  well  behind  me.  Then  Gregoire  can  follow 
on  his  wheel ;  he  is  thirteen,  and  will  do  as  a  page,  bring- 
ing up  the  rear  of  my  personal  escort.  All  the  rest  of  the 
Court  will  have  to  pack  itself  into  the  chariot  —  I  mean 
the  big  family  wagon,  in  which  there  is  room  for  eight. 
You,  as  Queen  Mother,  may  keep  your  last  little  prince, 
Nicolas,  on  your  knees.  Papa  will  only  have  to  carry  him- 
self proudly,  as  befits  the  head  of  a  dynasty.  And  my 
brother  Gervais,  that  young  Hercules  of  seventeen,  shall 
drive,  with  Claire,  who  at  fifteen  is  so  remarkable  for  common 
sense,  beside  him  on  the  box-seat.  As  for  the  illustrious 
twins,  those  high  and  mighty  lords,  Denis  and  Blaise,  we 
will  call  for  them  at  Janville,  since  they  are  waiting  for  us 
there,  at  Madame  Desvignes'." 

Thus  did  Rose  rattle  on,  exulting  over  the  scheme  she 
had  devised.  She  danced,  sang,  clapped  her  hands,  and 
finally  exclaimed  :  "  Ah  !  for  a  pretty  cortege  this  will  be 
fine  indeed." 

She  was  animated  by  such  joyous  haste  that  she  made 
the  party  start  much  sooner  than  was  necessary,  and  they 
reached  Janville  at  half-past  nine.  It  was  true,  however, 
that  they  had  to  call  for  the  others  there.  The  house  in 
which  Madame  Desvignes  had  taken  refuge  after  her  hus- 
band's death,  and  which  she  had  now  occupied  for  some 
twelve  years,  living  there  in  a  very  quiet  retired  way  on  the 
scanty  income  she  had  managed  to  save,  was  the  first  in 
the  village,  on  the  high  road.  For  a  week  past  her  elder 
daughter  Charlotte,  Blaise's  wife,  had  come  to  stay  there 
with  her  children,  Berthe  and  Christophe,  who  needed 
change  of  air ;  and  on  the  previous  evening  they  had  been 


292  FRUITFULNESS 

joined  by  Blaise,  who  was  well  pleased  to  spend  Sunday 
with  them. 

Madame  Desvignes'  younger  daughter,  Marthe,  was  de- 
lighted whenever  her  sister  thus  came  to  spend  a  few  weeks 
in  the  old  home,  bringing  her  little  ones  with  her,  and  once 
more  occupying  the  room  which  had  belonged  to  her  in  her 
girlish  days.  All  the  laughter  and  playfulness  of  the  past 
came  back  again,  and  the  one  dream  of  worthy  Madame 
Desvignes,  amid  her  pride  at  being  a  grandmamma,  was  of 
completing  her  life-work,  hitherto  so  prudently  carried  on, 
by  marrying  off  Marthe  in  her  turn.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it 
had  seemed  likely  that  there  might  be  three  instead  of  two 
weddings  at  Chantebled  that  spring.  Denis,  who,  since 
leaving  a  scientific  school  had  embarked  in  fresh  technical 
studies,  often  slept  at  the  farm  and  nearly  every  Sunday 
he  saw  Marthe,  who  was  of  the  same  age  as  Rose  and  her 
constant  companion.  The  young  girl,  a  pretty  blonde  like 
her  sister  Charlotte,  but  of  a  less  impulsive  and  more  prac- 
tical nature,  had  indeed  attracted  Denis,  and,  dowerless 
though  she  was,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  her, 
since  he  had  discovered  that  she  possessed  the  sterling  quali- 
ties that  help  one  on  to  fortune.  But  in  their  chats  together 
both  evinced  good  sense  and  serene  confidence,  without  sign 
of  undue  haste.  Particularly  was  this  the  case  with  Denis, 
who  was  very  methodical  in  his  ways  and  unwilling  to 
place  a  woman's  happiness  in  question  until  he  could  offer 
her  an  assured  position.  Thus,  of  their  own  accord,  they 
had  postponed  their  marriage,  quietly  and  smilingly  resist- 
ing the  passionate  assaults  of  Rose,  whom  the  idea  of  three 
weddings  on  the  same  day  had  greatly  excited.  At  the 
same  time,  Denis  continued  visiting  Madame  Desvignes, 
who,  on  her  side,  equally  prudent  and  confident,  received 
him  much  as  if  he  were  her  son.  That  morning  he  had 
even  quitted  the  farm  at  seven  o'clock,  saying  that  he  meant 
to  surprise  Blaise  in  bed ;  and  thus  he  also  was  to  be  met 
at  Janville. 

As  it  happened,  the  fete  of  Janville  fell  on  Sunday,  the 
second  in  May.  Encompassing  the  square  in  front  of  the 


FRUITFULNESS  293 

railway  station  were  roundabouts,  booths,  shooting  galleries, 
and  refreshment  stalls.  Stormy  showers  during  the  night 
had  cleansed  the  sky,  which  was  of  a  pure  blue,  with  a 
flaming  sun,  whose  heat  in  fact  was  excessive  for  the  season. 
A  good  many  people  were  already  assembled  on  the  square 
—  all  the  idlers  of  the  district,  bands  of  children,  and 
peasants  of  the  surrounding  country,  eager  to  see  the  sights  ; 
and  into  the  midst  of  this  crowd  fell  the  Froments  —  first 
the  bicyclists,  next  the  wagon,  and  then  the  others  who 
had  been  met  at  the  entry  of  the  village. 

"  We  are  producing  our  little  effect !  "  exclaimed  Rose  as 
she  sprang  from  her  wheel. 

This  was  incontestable.  During  the  earlier  years  the  whole 
of  Janville  had  looked  harshly  on  those  Froments,  those  bour- 
geois who  had  come  nobody  knew  whence,  and  who,  with 
overweening  conceit,  had  talked  of  making  corn  grow  in  land 
where  there  had  been  nothing  but  crops  of  stones  for  cen- 
turies past.  Then  the  miracle,  Mathieu's  extraordinary 
victory,  had  long  hurt  people's  vanity  and  thereby  increased 
their  anger.  But  everything  passes  away;  one  cannot  regard 
success  with  rancor,  and  folks  who  grow  rich  always  end  by 
being  in  the  right.  Thus,  nowadays,  Janville  smiled  com- 
placently on  that  swarming  family  which  had  grown  up  beside 
it,  forgetting  that  in  former  times  each  fresh  birth  at  Chante- 
bled  had  been  regarded  as  quite  scandalous  by  the  gossips. 
Besides,  how  could  one  resist  such  a  happy  display  of 
strength  and  power,  such  a  merry  invasion,  when,  as  on  that 
festive  Sunday,  the  whole  family  came  up  at  a  gallop,  con- 
quering the  roads,  the  streets,  and  the  squares  ?  What  with 
the  father  and  mother,  the  eleven  children  —  six  boys  and 
five  girls  —  and  two  grandchildren  already,  there  were  fifteen 
of  them.  The  eldest  boys,  the  twins,  were  now  four-and 
twenty,  and  still  so  much  alike  that  people  occasionally  mis- 
took one  for  the  other  as  in  their  cradle  days,  when  Marianne 
had  been  obliged  to  open  their  eyes  to  identify  them,  those 
of  Blaise  being  gray,  and  those  of  Denis  black.  Nicolas, 
the  youngest  boy,  at  the  other  end  of  the  family  scale,  was 
as  yet  but  five  years  old ;  a  delightful  little  urchin  was  he, 


294  FRUITFULNESS 

a  precocious  little  man  whose  energy  and  courage  were 
quite  amusing.  And  between  the  twins  and  that  youngster 
came  the  eight  other  children  :  Ambroise,  the  future  hus- 
band, who  was  already  on  the  road  to  every  conquest ; 
Rose,  so  brimful  of  life,  who  likewise  was  on  the  eve  of 
marrying ;  Gervais,  with  his  square  brow  and  wrestler's 
limbs,  who  would  soon  be  fighting  the  good  fight  of  agri- 
culture ;  Claire,  who  was  silent  and  hardworking,  and  lacked 
beauty,  but  possessed  a  strong  heart  and  a  housewife's 
sensible  head.  Next  Gregoire,  the  undisciplined,  self- 
willed  schoolboy,  who  was  ever  beating  the  hedges  in  search 
of  adventures  j  and  then  the  three  last  girls  :  Louise,  plump 
and  good  natured;  Madeleine,  delicate  and  of  dreamy  mind; 
Marguerite,  the  least  pretty  but  the  most  loving  of  the 
trio.  And  when,  behind  their  father  and  their  mother,  the 
eleven  came  along  one  after  the  other,  followed  too  by 
Berthe  and  Christophe,  representing  yet  another  generation, 
it  was  a  real  procession  that  one  saw,  as,  for  instance,  on 
that  fine  Sunday  on  the  Grand  Place  of  Janville,  already 
crowded  with  holiday-making  folks.  And  the  effect  was 
irresistible ;  even  those  who  were  scarcely  pleased  with  the 
prodigious  success  of  Chantebled  felt  enlivened  and  amused 
at  seeing  the  Froments  galloping  about  and  invading  the 
place.  So  much  health  and  mirth  and  strength  accompanied 
them,  as  if  earth  with  her  overflowing  gifts  of  life  had  thus 
profusely  created  them  for  to-morrow's  everlasting  hopes. 

11  Let  those  who  think  themselves  more  numerous  come 
forward  !  "  Rose  resumed  gayly.  "  And  then  we  will  count 
one  another." 

"  Come,  be  quiet !  "  said  her  mother,  who,  after  alighting 
from  the  wagon,  had  set  Nicolas  on  the  ground.  "  You 
will  end  by  making  people  hoot  us." 

"  Hoot  us !  Why,  they  admire  us  :  just  look  at  them  ! 
How  funny  it  is,  mamma,  that  you  are  not  prouder  of 
yourself  and  of  us  !  " 

"  Why,  I  am  so  very  proud  that  I  fear  to  humiliate  others." 

They  all  began  to  laugh.  And  Mathieu,  standing  near 
Marianne,  likewise  felt  proud  at  finding  himself,  as  he  put 


FRUITFULNESS  295 

it,  among  "  the  sacred  battalion  "  of  his  sons  and  daughters. 
To  that  battalion  worthy  Madame  Desvignes  herself  be- 
longed, since  her  daughter  Charlotte  was  adding  soldiers  to 
it  and  helping  it  to  become  an  army.  Such  as  it  was  indeed, 
this  was  only  the  beginning ;  later  on  the  battalion  would 
be  seen  ever  increasing  and  multiplying,  becoming  a  swarm- 
ing victorious  race,  great-grandchildren  following  grandchil- 
dren, till  there  were  fifty  of  them,  and  a  hundred,  and  two 
hundred,  all  tending  to  increase  the  happiness  and  beauty  of 
the  world.  And  in  the  mingled  amazement  and  amusement 
of  Janville  gathered  around  that  fruitful  family  there  was 
certainly  some  of  the  instinctive  admiration  which  is  felt 
for  the  strength  and  the  healthfulness  which  create  great 
nations. 

"  Besides,  we  have  only  friends  now,"  remarked  Mathieu. 
"  Everybody  is  cordial  with  us!  " 

"  Oh,  everybody  !  "  muttered  Rose.  "Just  look  at  the 
Lepailleurs  yonder,  in  front  of  that  booth." 

The  Lepailleurs  were  indeed  there  —  the  father,  the 
mother,  Antonin,  and  Therese.  In  order  to  avoid  the 
Froments  they  were  pretending  to  take  great  interest  in  a 
booth,  where  a  number  of  crudely-colored  china  ornaments 
were  displayed  as  prizes  for  the  winners  at  a  "  lucky-wheel." 
They  no  longer  even  exchanged  courtesies  with  the  Chante- 
bled  folks ;  for  in  their  impotent  rage  at  such  ceaseless 
prosperity  they  had  availed  themselves  of  a  petty  business 
dispute  to  break  off  all  relations.  Lepailleur  regarded  the 
creation  of  Chantebled  as  a  personal  insult,  for  he  had  not 
forgotten  his  jeers  and  challenges  with  respect  to  those 
moorlands,  from  which,  in  his  opinion,  one  would  never 
reap  anything  but  stones.  And  thus,  when  he  had  well 
examined  the  china  ornaments,  it  occurred  to  him  to  be 
insolent,  with  which  object  he  turned  round  and  stared  at 
the  Froments,  who,  as  the  train  they  were  expecting  would 
not  arrive  for  another  quarter  of  an  hour,  were  gayly  prom- 
enading through  the  fair. 

The  miller's  bad  temper  had  for  the  last  two  months  been 
increased  by  the  return  of  his  son  Antonin  to  Janville  under 


296  FRUITFULNESS 

very  deplorable  circumstances.  This  young  fellow,  who  had 
set  off  one  morning  to  conquer  Paris,  sent  there  by  his 
parents,  who  had  a  blind  confidence  in  his  fine  handwriting, 
had  remained  with  Maitre  Rousselet  the  attorney  for  four 
years  as  a  petty  clerk,  dull-witted  and  extremely  idle.  He 
had  not  made  the  slightest  progress  in  his  profession,  but 
had  gradually  sunk  into  debauchery,  cafe-life,  drunkenness, 
gambling,  and  facile  amours.  To  him  the  conquest  of  Paris 
meant  greedy  indulgence  in  the  coarsest  pleasures  such  as  he 
had  dreamt  of  in  his  village.  It  consumed  all  his  money, 
all  the  supplies  which  he  extracted  from  his  mother  by  con- 
tinual promises  of  victory,  in  which  she  implicitly  believed, 
so  great  was  her  faith  in  him.  But  he  ended  by  grievously 
suffering  in  health,  turned  thin  and  yellow,  and  actually 
began  to  lose  his  hair  at  three-and-twenty,  so  that  his  mother, 
full  of  alarm,  brought  him  home  one  day,  declaring  that  he 
worked  too  hard,  and  that  she  would  not  allow  him  to  kill 
himself  in  that  fashion.  It  leaked  out,  however,  later  on, 
that  Maitre  Rousselet  had  summarily  dismissed  him.  Even 
before  this  was  known  his  return  home  did  not  fail  to  make 
his  father  growl.  The  miller  partially  guessed  the  truth, 
and  if  he  did  not  openly  vent  his  anger,  it  was  solely  from 
pride,  in  order  that  he  might  not  have  to  confess  his  mis- 
take with  respect  to  the  brilliant  career  which  he  had  pre- 
dicted for  Antonin.  At  home,  when  the  doors  were  closed, 
Lepailleur  revenged  himself  on  his  wife,  picking  the  most 
frightful  quarrels  with  her  since  he  had  discovered  her  fre- 
quent remittances  of  money  to  their  son.  But  she  held 
her  own  against  him,  for  even  as  she  had  formerly  admired 
him,  so  at  present  she  admired  her  boy.  She  sacrificed,  as 
it  were,  the  father  to  the  son,  now  that  the  latter's  greater 
learning  brought  her  increased  surprise.  And  so  the  house- 
hold was  all  disagreement  as  a  result  of  that  foolish  attempt, 
born  of  vanity,  to  make  their  heir  a  Monsieur,  a  Parisian. 
Antonin  for  his  part  sneered  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  at 
it  all,  idling  away  his  time  pending  the  day  when  he  might 
be  able  to  resume  a  life  of  profligacy. 

When  the  Froments  passed  by,  it  was  a  fine  sight  to  see 


FRUITFULNESS  297 

the  Lepailleurs  standing  there  stiffly  and  devouring  them 
with  their  eyes.  The  father  puckered  his  lips  in  an  attempt 
to  sneer,  and  the  mother  jerked  her  head  with  an  air  of 
bravado.  The  son,  standing  there  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  presented  a  sorry  sight  with  his  bent  back,  his  bald 
head,  and  pale  face.  All  three  were  seeking  to  devise  some- 
thing disagreeable  when  an  opportunity  presented  itself. 

"  Why,  where  is  Therese  ?  "  exclaimed  La  Lepailleur. 
"  She  was  here  just  now  :  what  has  become  of  her  ?  I 
won't  have  her  leave  me  when  there  are  all  these  people 
about !  " 

It  was  quite  true,  for  the  last  moment  Therese  had  dis- 
appeared. She  was  now  ten  years  old  and  very  pretty,  quite 
a  plump  little  blonde,  with  wild  hair  and  black  eyes  which 
shone  brightly.  But  she  had  a  terribly  impulsive  and  wilful 
nature,  and  would  run  off  and  disappear  for  hours  at  a  time, 
beating  the  hedges  and  scouring  the  countryside  in  search 
of  birds'-nests  and  flowers  and  wild  fruit.  If  her  mother, 
however,  made  such  a  display  of  alarm,  darting  hither  and 
thither  to  find  her,  just  as  the  Froments  passed  by,  it  was 
because  she  had  become  aware  of  some  scandalous  proceed- 
ings during  the  previous  week.  Therese's  ardent  dream 
was  to  possess  a  bicycle,  and  she  desired  one  the  more  since 
her  parents  stubbornly  refused  to  content  her,  declaring  in 
fact  that  those  machines  might  do  for  bourgeois  but  were 
certainly  not  fit  for  well-behaved  girls.  Well,  one  after- 
noon, when  she  had  gone  as  usual  into  the  fields,  her  mother, 
returning  from  market,  had  perceived  her  on  a  deserted  strip 
of  road,  in  company  with  little  Gregoire  Froment,  another 
young  wanderer  whom  she  often  met  in  this  wise,  in  spots 
known  only  to  themselves.  The  two  made  a  very  suitable 
pair,  and  were  ever  larking  and  rambling  along  the  paths, 
under  the  leaves,  beside  the  ditches.  But  the  abominable 
thing  was  that,  on  this  occasion,  Gregoire,  having  seated 
Therese  on  his  own  bicycle,  was  supporting  her  at  the  waist 
and  running  alongside,  helping  her  to  direct  the  machine. 
Briefly  it  was  a  real  bicycle  lesson  which  the  little  rascal 
was  giving,  and  which  the  little  hussy  took  with  all  the 


298  FRUITFULNESS 

pleasure  in  the  world.  «When  Therese  returned  home  that 
evening  she  had  her  ears  soundly  boxed  for  her  pains. 

"  Where  can  that  little  gadabout  have  got  to  ? "  La 
Lepailleur  continued  shouting.  "  One  can  no  sooner  take 
one's  eyes  off  her  than  she  runs  away." 

Antonin,  however,  having  peeped  behind  the  booth  con- 
taining the  china  ornaments,  lurched  back  again,  still  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  said  with  his  vicious  sneer : 
"Just  look  there,  you'll  see  something." 

And  indeed,  behind  the  booth,  his  mother  again  found 
Therese  and  Gregoire  together.  The  lad  was  holding  his 
bicycle  with  one  hand  and  explaining  some  of  the  mecha- 
nism of  it,  while  the  girl,  full  of  admiration  and  covetous- 
ness,  looked  on  with  glowing  eyes.  Indeed  she  could  not 
resist  her  inclination,  but  laughingly  let  Gregoire  raise  her 
in  order  to  seat  her  for  a  moment  on  the  saddle,  when  all 
at  once  her  mother's  terrible  voice  burst  forth :  "  You 
wicked  hussy !  what  are  you  up  to  there  again  ?  Just 
come  back  at  once,  or  I'll  settle  your  business  for  you." 

Then  Mathieu  also,  catching  sight  of  the  scene,  sternly 
summoned  Gregoire :  "  Please  to  place  your  wheel  with 
the  others.  You  know  what  I  have  already  said  to  you,  so 
don't  begin  again." 

It  was  war.  Lepailleur  impudently  growled  ignoble 
threats,  which  fortunately  were  lost  amid  the  strains  of 
a  barrel  organ.  And  the  two  families  separated,  going  off 
in  different  directions  through  the  growing  holiday-making 
crowd. 

"  Won't  that  train  ever  come,  then  ? "  resumed  Rose, 
who  with  joyous  impatience  was  at  every  moment  turning 
to  glance  at  the  clock  of  the  little  railway  station  on  the 
other  side  of  the  square.  "  We  have  still  ten  minutes  to 
wait :  whatever  shall  we  do  ?  " 

As  it  happened  she  had  stopped  in  front  of  a  hawker  who 
stood  on  the  footway  with  a  basketful  of  crawfish,  crawling, 
pell-mell,  at  his  feet.  They  had  certainly  come  from  the 
sources  of  the  Yeuse,  three  leagues  away.  They  were  not 
large,  but  they  were  very  tasty,  for  Rose  herself  had  occa- 


FRUITFULNESS  299 

sionally  caught  some  in  the  stream.  And  thus  a  greedy 
but  also  playful  fancy  came  to  her. 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  "  she  cried, "  let  us  buy  the  whole  basket- 
ful. It  will  be  for  the  feast  of  welcome,  you  see ;  it  will 
be  our  present  to  the  royal  couple  we  are  awaiting.  People 
won't  say  that  Our  Majesties  neglect  to  do  things  properly 
when  they  are  expecting  other  Majesties.  And  I  will  cook 
them  when  we  get  back,  and  you'll  see  how  well  I  shall 
succeed." 

At  this  the  others  began  to  poke  fun  at  her,  but  her 
parents  ended  by  doing  as  she  asked,  big  child  as  she  was, 
who  in  the  fulness  of  her  happiness  hardly  knew  what 
amusement  to  seek.  However,  as  by  way  of  pastime  she 
obstinately  sought  to  count  the  crawfish,  quite  an  affair 
ensued  :  some  of  them  pinched  her,  and  she  dropped  them 
with  a  little  shriek ;  and,  amid  it  all,  the  basket  fell  over 
and  then  the  crawfish  hurriedly  crawled  away.  The  boys 
and  girls  darted  in  pursuit  of  them,  there  was  quite  a  hunt, 
in  which  even  the  serious  members  of  the  family  at  last 
took  part.  And  what  with  the  laughter  and  eagerness  of 
one  and  all,  the  big  as  well  as  the  little,  the  whole  happy 
brood,  the  sight  was  so  droll  and  gay  that  the  folks  of  Jan- 
ville  again  drew  near  and  good-naturedly  took  their  share 
of  the  amusement. 

All  at  once,  however,  arose  a  distant  rumble  of  wheels 
and  an  engine  whistled. 

"  Ah,  good  Heavens !  here  they  are ! "  cried  Rose, 
quite  scared ;  "  quick,  quick,  or  the  reception  will  be 
missed." 

A  scramble  ensued,  the  owner  of  the  crawfish  was  paid, 
and  there  was  just  time  to  shut  the  basket  and  carry  it  to 
the  wagon.  The  whole  family  was  already  running  off, 
invading  the  little  station,  and  ranging  itself  in  good  order 
along  the  arrival  platform. 

"No,  no,  not  like  that,"  Rose  repeated.  "You  don't 
observe  the  right  order  of  precedence.  The  queen  mother 
must  be  with  the  king  her  husband,  and  then  the  princes 
according  to  their  height.  Frederic  must  place  himself  on 


300  FRUITFULNESS 

my  right.  And  it's  for  me,  you  know,  to  make  the  speech 
of  welcome." 

The  train  stopped.  When  Ambroise  and  Andree 
alighted  they  were  at  first  much  surprised  to  find  that 
everybody  had  come  to  meet  them,  drawn  up  in  a  row 
with  solemn  mien.  When  Rose,  however  began  to  deliver 
a  pompous  little  speech,  treating  her  brother's  betrothed 
like  some  foreign  princess,  whom  she  had  orders  to  wel- 
come in  the  name  of  the  king,  her  father,  the  young  couple 
began  to  laugh,  and  even  prolonged  the  joke  by  respond- 
ing in  the  same  style.  The  railway  men  looked  on  and 
listened,  gaping.  It  was  a  fine  farce,  and  the  Froments 
were  delighted  at  showing  themselves  so  playful  on  that 
warm  May  morning. 

But  Marianne  suddenly  raised  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise :  "  What !  has  not  Madame  Seguin  come  with  you  ? 
She  gave  me  so  many  promises  that  she  would." 

In  the  rear  of  Ambroise  and  Andree  Celeste  the  maid 
had  alone  alighted  from  the  train.  And  she  undertook  to 
explain  things  :  "  Madame  charged  me,"  said  she,  "  to  say 
that  she  was  really  most  grieved.  Yesterday  she  still 
hoped  that  she  would  be  able  to  keep  her  promise.  Only 
in  the  evening  she  received  a  visit  from  Monsieur  de 
Navarede,  who  is  presiding  to-day,  Sunday,  at  a  meeting 
of  his  Society,  and  of  course  Madame  could  not  do  other- 
wise than  attend  it.  So  she  requested  me  to  accompany 
the  young  people,  and  everything  is  satisfactory,  for  here 
they  are,  you  see." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  nobody  regretted  the  absence  of  Val- 
entine, who  always  moped  when  she  came  into  the  coun- 
try. And  Mathieu  expressed  the  general  opinion  in  a  few 
words  of  polite  regret  :  "  Well,  you  must  tell  her  how 
much  we  shall  miss  her.  And  now  let  us  be  off." 

Celeste,  however,  intervened  once  more.  "  Excuse  me, 
monsieur,  but  I  cannot  remain  with  you.  No.  Madame 
particularly  told  me  to  go  back  to  her  at  once,  as  she  will 
need  me  to  dress  her.  And,  besides,  she  is  always  bored 
when  she  is  alone.  There  is  a  train  for  Paris  at  a  quar- 


FRUITFULNESS  301 

ter  past  ten,  is  there  not  ?  I  will  go  back  by  it.  Then 
I  will  be  here  at  eight  o'clock  this  evening  to  take  Made- 
moiselle home.  We  settled  all  that  in  looking  through  a 
time-table.  Till  this  evening,  monsieur." 

"  Till  this  evening,  then,  it's  understood." 

Thereupon,  leaving  the  maid  in  the  deserted  little 
station,  all  the  others  returned  to  the  village  square,  where 
the  wagon  and  the  bicycles  were  waiting. 

"  Now  we  are  all  assembled,"  exclaimed  Rose,  "  and 
the  real  fete  is  about  to  begin.  Let  me  organize  the  pro- 
cession for  our  triumphal  return  to  the  castle  of  our 
ancestors." 

"  I  am  very  much  afraid  that  your  procession  will  be 
soaked,"  said  Marianne.  "  Just  look  at  the  rain  approach- 
ing!" 

During  the  last  few  moments  there  had  appeared  in  the 
hitherto  spotless  sky  a  huge,  livid  cloud,  rising  from  the 
west  and  urged  along  by  a  sudden  squall.  It  presaged  a 
return  of  the  violent  stormy  showers  of  the  previous  night. 

"  Rain  !  Oh,  we  don't  care  about  that,"  the  girl  re- 
sponded with  an  air  of  superb  defiance.  "  It  will  never 
dare  to  come  down  before  we  get  home." 

Then,  with  a  comical  semblance  of  authority,  she  dis- 
posed her  people  in  the  order  which  she  had  planned  in  her 
mind  a  week  previously.  And  the  procession  set  off  through 
the  admiring  village,  amid  the  smiles  of  all  the  good  women 
hastening  to  their  doorsteps,  and  then  spread  out  along  the 
white  road  between  the  fertile  fields,  where  bands  of  startled 
larks  took  wing,  carrying  their  clear  song  to  the  heavens. 
It  was  really  magnificent. 

At  the  head  of  the  party  were  Rose  and  Frederic,  side 
by  side  on  their  bicycles,  opening  the  nuptial  march  with 
majestic  amplitude.  Behind  them  followed  the  three  maids 
of  honor,  the  younger  sisters,  Louise,  Madeleine,  and  Mar- 
guerite, the  tallest  first,  the  shortest  last,  and  each  on  a 
wheel  proportioned  to  her  growth.  And  with  berets l  on 
their  heads,  and  their  hair  down  their  backs,  waving  in  the 

1  The  beret  is  the  Pyreneean  tam-o'-shanter. 


302  FRUITFULNESS 

breeze,  they  looked  adorable,  suggesting  a  flight  of  messenger 
swallows  skimming  over  the  ground  and  bearing  good  tidings 
onward.  As  for  Gregoire  the  page,  restive  and  always  ready 
to  bolt,  he  did  not  behave  very  well ;  for  he  actually  tried 
to  pass  the  royal  couple  at  the  head  of  the  procession,  a 
proceeding  which  brought  him  various  severe  admonitions 
until  he  fell  back,  as  duty  demanded,  to  his  deferential  and 
modest  post.  On  the  other  hand,  as  the  three  maids  of 
honor  began  to  sing  the  ballad  of  Cinderella  on  her  way  to 
the  palace  of  Prince  Charming,  the  royal  couple  conde- 
scendingly declared  that  the  song  was  appropriate  and  of 
pleasing  effect,  whatever  might  be  the  requirements  of  eti- 
quette. Indeed,  Rose,  Frederic,  and  Gregoire  also  ended 
by  singing  the  ballad,  which  rang  out  amid  the  serene,  far- 
spreading  countryside  like  the  finest  music  in  the  world. 

Then,  at  a  short  distance  in  the  rear,  came  the  chariot, 
the  good  old  family  wagon,  which  was  now  crowded.  Ac- 
cording to  the  prearranged  programme  it  was  Gervais  who 
held  the  ribbons,  with  Claire  beside  him.  The  two  strong 
horses  trotted  on  in  their  usual  leisurely  fashion,  in  spite  of 
all  the  gay  whip-cracking  of  their  driver,  who  also  wished 
to  contribute  to  the  music.  Inside  there  were  now  seven 
people  for  six  places,  for  if  the  three  children  were  small, 
they  were  at  the  same  time  so  restless  that  they  fully  took 
up  their  share  of  room.  First,  face  to  face,  there  were 
Ambroise  and  Andree,  the  betrothed  couple  who  were  being 
honored  by  this  glorious  welcome.  Then,  also  face  to  face, 
there  we-re  the  high  and  mighty  rulers  of  the  region,  Mathieu 
and  Marianne,  the  latter  of  whom  kept  little  Nicolas,  the 
last  prince  of  the  line,  on  her  knees,  he  braying  the  while 
like  a  little  donkey,  because  he  felt  so  pleased.  Then  the 
last  places  were  occupied  by  the  rulers'  granddaughter  and 
grandson,  Mademoiselle  Berthe  and  Monsieur  Christophe, 
who  were  as  yet  unable  to  walk  long  distances.  And  the 
chariot  rolled  on  with  much  majesty,  albeit  that  for  fear  of 
the  rain  the  curtains  of  stout  white  linen  had  already  been 
half-drawn,  thus  giving  the  vehicle,  at  a  distance,  somewhat 
of  the  aspect  of  a  miller's  van. 


FRUITFULNESS  303 

Further  back  yet,  as  a  sort  of  rear-guard,  was  a  group  on 
foot,  composed  of  Blaise,  Denis,  Madame  Desvignes,  and 
her  daughters  Charlotte  and  Marthe.  They  had  absolutely 
refused  to  take  a  fly,  rinding  it  more  pleasant  to  walk  the 
mile  and  a  half  which  separated  Chantebled  from  Janville. 
If  the  rain  should  fall,  they  would  manage  to  find  shelter 
somewhere.  Besides,  Rose  had  declared  that  a  suite  on 
foot  was  absolutely  necessary  to  give  the  procession  its  full 
significance.  Those  five  last  comers  would  represent  the 
multitude,  the  great  concourse  of  people  which  follows 
sovereigns  and  acclaims  them.  Or  else  they  might  be  the 
necessary  guard,  the  men-at-arms,  who  watched  for  the 
purpose  of  foiling  a  possible  attack  from  some  felon  neigh- 
bor. At  the  same  time  it  unfortunately  happened  that 
worthy  Madame  Desvignes  could  not  walk  very  fast,  so 
that  the  rear-guard  was  soon  distanced,  to  such  a  degree 
indeed  that  it  became  merely  a  little  lost  group,  far  away. 

Still  this  did  not  disconcert  Rose,  but  rather  made  her 
laugh  the  more.  At  the  first  bend  of  the  road  she  turned 
her  head,  and  when  she  saw  her  rear-guard  more  than 
three  hundred  yards  away  she  raised  cries  of  admiration. 
"  Oh  !  just  look,  Frederic  !  What  an  interminable  proces- 
sion !  What  a  deal  of  room  we  take  up  !  The  cortege  is 
becoming  longer  and  longer,  and  the  road  won't  be  long 
enough  for  it  very  soon." 

Then,  as  the  three  maids  of  honor  and  the  page  began 
to  jeer  impertinently,  "  Just  try  to  be  respectful,"  she 
said.  "  Count  a  little.  There  are  six  of  us  forming  the 
vanguard.  In  the  chariot  there  are  nine,  and  six  and  nine 
make  fifteen.  Add  to  them  the  five  of  the  rear-guard,  and 
we  have  twenty.  Wherever  else  is  such  a  family  seen  ? 
Why,  the  rabbits  who  watch  us  pass  are  mute  with  stupor 
and  humiliation." 

Then  came  another  laugh,  and  once  more  they  all  took 
up  the  song  of  Cinderella  on  her  way  to  the  palace  of 
Prince  Charming. 

It  was  at  the  bridge  over  the  Yeuse  that  the  first  drops 
of  rain,  big  drops  they  were,  began  to  fall.  The  big  livid 


3o4  FRUITFULNESS 

cloud,  urged  on  by  a  terrible  wind,  was  galloping  across 
the  sky,  filling  it  with  the  clamor  of  a  tempest.  And 
almost  immediately  afterwards  the  rain-drops  increased  in 
volume  and  in  number,  lashed  by  so  violent  a  squall  that 
the  water  poured  down  as  if  by  the  bucketful,  or  as  if 
some  huge  sluice-gate  had  suddenly  burst  asunder  over- 
head. One  could  no  longer  see  twenty  yards  before  one. 
In  two  minutes  the  road  was  running  with  water  like  the 
bed  of  a  torrent. 

Then  there  was  a  saiive-qui-peut  among  the  procession. 
It  was  learnt  later  on  that  the  people  of  the  rear-guard 
had  luckily  been  surprised  near  a  peasant's  cottage,  in 
which  they  had  quietly  sought  refuge.  Then  the  folks 
in  the  wagon  simply  drew  their  curtains,  and  halted  beneath 
the  shelter  of  a  wayside  tree  for  fear  lest  the  horses  should 
take  fright  under  such  a  downpour.  They  called  to  the 
bicyclists  ahead  of  them  to  stop  also,  instead  of  obstinately 
remaining  in  such  a  deluge.  But  their  words  were  lost 
amid  the  rush  of  water.  However,  the  little  girls  and 
the  page  took  a  proper  course  in  crouching  beside  a  thick 
hedge,  though  the  betrothed  couple  wildly  continued  on 
their  way. 

Frederic,  the  more  reasonable  of  the  two,  certainly  had 
sense  enough  to  say :  "  This  isn't  prudent  on  our  part. 
Let  us  stop  like  the  others,  I  beg  you." 

But  from  Rose,  all  excitement,  transported  by  her  bliss- 
ful fever,  and  insensible,  so  it  seemed,  to  the  pelting  of 
the  rain,  he  only  drew  this  answer :  "  Pooh  !  what  does  it 
matter,  now  that  we  are  soaking  ?  It  is  by  stopping  that 
we  might  do  ourselves  harm.  Let  us  make  haste,  all 
haste.  In  three  minutes  we  shall  be  at  home  and  able  to 
make  fine  sport  of  those  laggards  when  they  arrive  in 
another  quarter  of  an  hour." 

They  had  just  crossed  the  Yeuse  bridge,  and  they  swept 
on  side  by  side,  although  the  road  was  far  from  easy,  being 
a  continual  ascent  for  a  thousand  yards  or  so  between  rows 
of  lofty  poplars. 

"  I   assure   you   that  we  are  doing  wrong,"  the  young 


FRUITFULNESS  305 

man  repeated.  "  They  will  blame  me,  and  they  will  be 
right." 

"  Oh  !  well,"  cried  she,  "  I'm  amusing  myself.  This 
bicycle  bath  is  quite  funny.  Leave  me,  then,  if  you  don't 
love  me  enough  to  follow  me." 

He  followed  her,  however,  pressed  close  beside  her,  and 
sought  to  shelter  her  a  little  from  the  slanting  rain.  And 
it  was  a  wild,  mad  race  on  the  part  of  that  young  couple, 
almost  linked  together,  their  elbows  touching  as  they  sped 
on  and  on,  as  if  lifted  from  the  ground,  carried  off  by  all 
that  rushing,  howling  water  which  poured  down  so  rage- 
fully.  It  was  as  though  a  thunder-blast  bore  them  along. 
But  at  the  very  moment  when  they  sprang  from  their 
bicycles  in  the  yard  of  the  farm  the  rain  ceased,  and  the 
sky  became  blue  once  more. 

Rose  was  laughing  like  a  lunatic,  and  looked  very  flushed, 
but  she  was  soaked  to  such  a  point  that  water  streamed 
from  her  clothes,  her  hair,  her  hands.  You  might  have 
taken  her  for  some  fairy  of  the  springs  who  had  overturned 
her  urn  on  herself. 

"  Well,  the  fete  is  complete,"  she  exclaimed  breath- 
lessly. "  All  the  same,  we  are  the  first  home." 

She  then  darted  upstairs  to  comb  her  hair  and  change 
her  gown.  But  to  gain  just  a  few  minutes,  eager  as  she 
was  to  cook  the  crawfish,  she  did  not  take  the  trouble  to 
put  on  dry  linen.  She  wished  the  pot  to  be  on  the  fire 
with  the  water,  the  white  wine,  the  carrots  and  spices, 
before  the  family  arrived.  And  she  came  and  went, 
attending  to  the  fire  and  filling  the  whole  kitchen  with 
her  gay  activity,  like  a  good  housewife  who  was  glad  to 
display  her  accomplishments,  while  her  betrothed,  who  had 
also  come  downstairs  again  after  changing  his  clothes, 
watched  her  with  a  kind  of  religious  admiration. 

At  last,  when  the  whole  family  had  arrived,  the  folks  of 
the  brake  and  the  pedestrians  also,  there  came  a  rather 
sharp  explanation.  Mathieu  and  Marianne  were  angry, 
so  greatly  had  they  been  alarmed  by  that  rush  through  the 
storm. 


3o6  FRUITFULNESS 

"  There  was  no  sense  in  it,  my  girl,"  Marianne  repeated. 
u  Did  you  at  least  change  your  linen  ?  " 

"  Why  yes,  why  yes  !  "  replied  Rose.  "  Where  are  the 
crawfish  ?  " 

Mathieu  meantime  was  lecturing  Frederic.  "  You  might 
have  broken  your  necks,"  said  he ;  "  and,  besides,  it  is  by 
no  means  good  to  get  soaked  with  cold  water  when  one  is 
hot.  You  ought  to  have  stopped  her." 

"  Well,  she  insisted  on  going  on,  and  whenever  she 
insists  on  anything,  you  know,  I  haven't  the  strength  to 
prevent  her." 

At  last  Rose,  in  her  pretty  way,  put  an  end  to  the 
reproaches.  "  Come,  that's  enough  scolding ;  I  did  wrong, 
no  doubt.  But  won't  anybody  compliment  me  on  my 
court-bouillon  ?  Have  you  ever  known  crawfish  to  smell  as 
nice  as  that  ?  " 

The  lunch  was  wonderfully  gay.  As  they  were  twenty, 
and  wished  to  have  a  real  rehearsal  of  the  wedding  feast, 
the  table  had  been  set  in  a  large  gallery  adjoining  the  ordi- 
nary dining-room.  This  gallery  was  still  bare,  but  through- 
out the  meal  they  talked  incessantly  of  how  they  would 
embellish  it  with  shrubs,  garlands  of  foliage,  and  clumps 
of  flowers.  During  the  dessert  they  even  sent  for  a  ladder 
with  the  view  of  indicating  on  the  walls  the  main  lines  of 
the  decorations. 

For  a  moment  or  so  Rose,  previously  so  talkative,  had 
lapsed  into  silence.  She  had  eaten  heartily,  but  all  the 
color  had  left  her  face,  which  had  assumed  a  waxy  pallor 
under  her  heavy  hair,  which  was  still  damp.  And  when 
she  wished  to  ascend  the  ladder  herself  to  indicate  how 
some  ornament  should  be  placed,  her  legs  suddenly  failed 
her,  she  staggered,  and  then  fainted  away. 

Everybody  was  in  consternation,  but  she  was  promptly 
placed  in  a  chair,  where  for  a  few  minutes  longer  she  remained 
unconscious.  Then,  on  coming  to  her  senses,  she  remained 
for  a  moment  silent,  oppressed  as  by  a  feeling  of  pain,  and 
apparently  failing  to  understand  what  had  taken  place. 
Mathieu  and  Marianne,  terribly  upset,  pressed  her  with 


FRUITFULNESS  307 

questions,  anxious  as  they  were  to  know  if  she  felt  better. 
She  had  evidently  caught  cold,  and  this  was  the  fine  result 
of  her  foolish  ride. 

By  degrees  the  girl  recovered  her  composure,  and  again 
smiled.  She  then  explained  that  she  now  felt  no  pain,  but 
that  it  had  suddenly  seemed  to  her  as  if  a  heavy  paving- 
stone  were  lying  on  her  chest ;  then  this  weight  had  melted 
away,  leaving  her  better  able  to  breathe.  And,  indeed,  she 
was  soon  on  her  feet  once  more,  and  finished  giving  her 
views  respecting  the  decoration  of  the  gallery,  in  such  wise 
that  the  others  ended  by  feeling  reassured,  and  the  afternoon 
passed  away  joyously  in  the  making  of  all  sorts  of  splendid 
plans.  Little  was  eaten  at  dinner,  for  they  had  done  too 
much  honor  to  the  crawfish  at  noon.  And  at  nine  o'clock, 
as  soon  as  Celeste  arrived  for  Andree,  the  gathering  broke 
up.  Ambroise  was  returning  to  Paris  that  same  evening. 
Blaise  and  Denis  were  to  take  the  seven  o'clock  train  the 
following  morning.  And  Rose,  after  accompanying  Madame 
Desvignes  and  her  daughters  to  the  road,  called  to  them 
through  the  darkness :  "Au  revoir,  come  back  soon."  She 
was  again  full  of  gayety  at  the  thought  of  the  general  ren- 
dezvous which  the  family  had  arranged  for  the  approaching 
weddings. 

Neither  Mathieu  nor  Marianne  went  to  bed  at  once, 
however.  Though  they  did  not  even  speak  of  it  together, 
they  thought  that  Rose  looked  very. strange,  as  if,  indeed, 
she  were  intoxicated.  She  had  again  staggered  on  returning 
to  the  house,  and  though  she  only  complained  of  some  slight 
oppression,  they  prevailed  on  her  to  go  to  bed.  After  she 
had  retired  to  her  room,  which  adjoined  their  own,  Marianne 
went  several  times  to  see  if  she  were  well  wrapped  up  and 
were  sleeping  peacefully,  while  Mathieu  remained  anxiously 
thoughtful  beside  the  lamp.  At  last  the  girl  fell  asleep,  and 
the  parents,  leaving  the  door  of  communication  open,  then 
exchanged  a  few  words  in  an  undertone,  in  their  desire  to 
tranquillize  each  other.  It  would  surely  be  nothing  ;  a  good 
night's  rest  would  suffice  to  restore  Rose  to  her  wonted 
health.  Then  in  their  turn  they  went  to  bed,  the  whole 


3o8  FRUITFULNESS 

farm  lapsed  into  silence,  surrendering  itself  to  slumber  until 
the  first  cockcrow.  But  all  at  once,  about  four  o'clock, 
shortly  before  daybreak,  a  stifled  call,  "  Mamma !  mamma  ! " 
awoke  both  Mathieu  and  Marianne,  and  they  sprang  out  of 
bed,  barefooted,  shivering,  and  groping  for  the  candle.  Rose 
was  again  stifling,  struggling  against  another  attack  of 
extreme  violence.  For  the  second  time,  however,  she  soon 
regained  consciousness  and  appeared  relieved,  and  thus  the 
parents,  great  as  was  their  distress,  preferred  to  summon 
nobody  but  to  wait  till  daylight.  Their  alarm  was  caused 
particularly  by  the  great  change  they  noticed  in  their  daugh- 
ter's appearance ;  her  face  was  swollen  and  distorted,  as  if 
some  evil  power  had  transformed  her  in  the  night.  But  she 
fell  asleep  again,  in  a  state  of  great  prostration ;  and  they 
no  longer  stirred  for  fear  of  disturbing  her  slumber.  They 
remained  there  watching  and  waiting,  listening  to  the  revival 
of  life  in  the  farm  around  them  as  the  daylight  gradually 
increased.  Time  went  by  ;  five  and  then  six  o'clock  struck. 
And  at  about  twenty  minutes  to  seven  Mathieu,  on  looking 
into  the  yard,  and  there  catching  sight  of  Denis,  who  was 
to  return  to  Paris  by  the  seven  o'clock  train,  hastened  down 
to  tell  him  to  call  upon  Boutan  and  beg  the  doctor  to  come 
at  once.  Then,  as  soon  as  his  son  had  started,  he  rejoined 
Marianne  upstairs,  still  unwilling  to  call  or  warn  anybody. 
But  a  third  attack  followed,  and  this  time  it  was  the 
thunderbolt.  . 

Rose  had  half  risen  in  bed,  her  arms  thrown  out,  her 
mouth  distended  as  she  gasped  "  Mamma  !  mamma  !  " 

Then  in  a  sudden  fit  of  revolt,  a  last  flash  of  life,  she 
sprang  from  her  bed  and  stepped  towards  the  window, 
whose  panes  were  all  aglow  with  the  rising  sun.  And  for 
a  moment  she  leant  there,  her  legs  bare,  her  shoulders  bare, 
and  her  heavy  hair  falling  over  her  like  a  royal  mantle. 
Never  had  she  looked  more  beautiful,  more  dazzling,  full 
of  strength  and  love. 

But  she  murmured  :  "  Oh  !  how  I  suffer  !  It  is  all  over, 
I  am  going  to  die." 

Her  father  darted  towards  her ;  her  mother  sustained  her, 


FRUITFULNESS  309 

throwing  her  arms  around  her  like  invincible  armor  which 
would  shield  her  from  all  harm. 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  you  unhappy  girl !  It  is  nothing ; 
it  is  only  another  attack  which  will  pass  away.  Get  into 
bed  again,  for  mercy's  sake.  Your  old  friend  Boutan  is  on 
his  way  here.  You  will  be  up  and  well  again  to-morrow." 

"  No,  no,  I  am  going  to  die ;  it  is  all  over." 

She  fell  back  in  their  arms ;  they  only  had  time  to  lay 
her  on  her  bed.  And  the  thunderbolt  fell :  without  a  word, 
without  a  glance,  in  a  few  minutes  she  died  of  congestion  of 
the  lungs. 

Ah  !  the  imbecile  thunderbolt !  Ah  !  the  scythe,  which 
with  a  single  stroke  blindly  cuts  down  a  whole  springtide ! 
It  was  all  so  brutally  sudden,  so  utterly  unexpected,  that  at 
first  the  stupefaction  of  Marianne  and  Mathieu  was  greater 
than  their  despair.  In  response  to  their  cries  the  whole 
farm  hastened  up,  the  fearful  news  filled  the  place,  and  then 
all  sank  into  the  deep  silence  of  death  —  all  work,  all  life 
ceasing.  And  the  other  children  were  there,  scared  and 
overcome :  little  Nicolas,  who  did  not  yet  understand 
things  ;  Gregoire,  the  page  of  the  previous  day ;  Louise, 
Madeleine,  and  Marguerite,  the  three  maids  of  honor,  and 
their  elders,  Claire  and  Gervais,  who  felt  the  blow  more 
deeply.  And  there  were  yet  the  others  journeying  away, 
Blatse,  Denis,  and  Ambroise,  travelling  to  Paris  at  that  very 
moment,  in  ignorance  of  the  unforeseen,  frightful  hatchet- 
stroke  which  had  fallen  on  the  family.  Where  would  the 
terrible  tidings  reach  them  ?  In  what  cruel  distress  would 
they  return  !  And  the  doctor  who  would  soon  arrive  too ! 
But  all  at  once,  amid  the  terror  and  confusion,  there  rang 
out  the  cries  of  Frederic,  the  poor  dead  girl's  affianced  lover. 
He  shrieked  his  despair  aloud,  he  was  half  mad,  he  wished 
to  kill  himself,  saying  that  he  was  the  murderer  and  that  he 
ought  to  have  prevented  Rose  from  so  rashly  riding  home 
through  the  storm !  He  had  to  be  led  away  and  watched 
for  fear  of  some  fresh  misfortune.  His  sudden  frenzy  had 
gone  to  every  heart ;  sobs  burst  forth  and  lamentations  arose 
from  the  woful  parents,  from  the  brothers,  the  sisters,  from 


310  FRUITFULNESS 

the  whole  of  stricken  Chantebled,  which  death  thus  visited 
for  the  first  time. 

Ah,  God !  Rose  on  that  bed  of  mourning,  white,  cold, 
and  dead  !  She,  the  fairest,  the  gayest,  the  most  loved  ! 
She,  before  whom  all  the  others  were  ever  in  admiration  — 
she  of  whom  they  were  .so  proud,  so  fond  !  And  to  think 
that  this  blow  should  fall  in  the  midst  of  hope,  bright  hope 
in  long  life  and  sterling  happiness,  but  ten  days  before  her 
wedding,  and  on  the  morrow  of  that  day  of  wild  gayety,  all 
jests  and  laughter !  They  could  again  see  her,  full  of  life 
and  so  adorable  with  her  happy  youthful  fancies  —  that 
princely  reception  and  that  royal  procession.  It  had 
seemed  as  if  those  two  coming  weddings,  celebrated  the 
same  day,  would  be  like  the  supreme  florescence  of  the 
family's  long  happiness  and  prosperity.  Doubtless  they 
had  often  experienced  trouble  and  had  even  wept  at  times, 
but  they  had  drawn  closer  together  and  consoled  one  an- 
other on  such  occasions ;  none  had  ever  been  cut  off  from 
the  good-night  embraces  which  healed  every  sore.  And 
now  the  best  was  gone,  death  had  come  to  say  that  abso- 
lute joy  existed  for  none,  that  the  most  valiant,  the  happiest, 
never  reaped  the  fulness  of  their  hopes.  There  was  no  life 
without  death.  And  they  paid  their  share  of  the  debt  of 
human  wretchedness,  paid  it  the  more  dearly  since  they  had 
made  for  themselves  a  larger  sum  of  life.  When  everything 
germinates  and  grows  around  one,  when  one  has  determined 
on  unreserved  fruitfulness ;  on  continuous  creation  and  in- 
crease, how  awful  is  the  recall  to  the  ever-present  dim  abyss 
in  which  the  world  is  fashioned,  on  the  day  when  mis- 
fortune falls,  digs  its  first  pit,  and  carries  ofF  a  loved  one! 
It  is  like  a  sudden  snapping,  a  rending  of  the  hopes  which 
seemed  to  be  endless,  and  a  feeling  of  stupefaction  comes 
at  the  discovery  that  one  cannot  live  and  love  forever ! 

Ah  !  how  terrible  were  the  two  days  that  followed :  the 
farm  itself  lifeless,  without  sound  save  that  of  the  breathing 
of  the  cattle,  the  whole  family  gathered  together,  overcome 
by  the  cruel  spell  of  waiting,  ever  in  tears  while  the  poor 
corpse  remained  there  under  a  harvest  of  flowers.  And 


FRUITFULNESS  311 

there  was  this  cruel  aggravation,  that  on  the  eve  of  the 
funeral,  when  the  body  had  been  laid  in  the  coffin,  it  was 
brought  down  into  that  gallery  where  they  had  lunched  so 
merrily  while  discussing  how  magnificently  they  might 
decorate  it  for  the  two  weddings.  It  was  there  that  the 
last  funeral  watch,  the  last  wake,  took  place,  and  there 
were  no  evergreen  shrubs,  no  garlands  of  foliage,  merely 
four  tapers  which  burnt  there  amid  a  wealth  of  white 
roses  gathered  in  the  morning,  but  already  fading.  Neither 
the  mother  nor  the  father  was  willing  to  go  to  bed  that 
night.  They  remained,  side  by  side,  near  the  child  whom 
mother-earth  was  taking  back  from  them.  They  could  see 
her  quite  little  again,  but  sixteen  months  old,  at  the  time 
of  their  first  sojourn  at  Chantebled  in  the  old  tumbledown 
shooting-box,  when  she  had  just  been  weaned  and  they 
were  wont  to  go  and  cover  her  up  at  nighttime.  They 
saw  her  also,  later  on,  in  Paris,  hastening  to  them  in  the 
morning,  climbing  up  and  pulling  their  bed  to  pieces  with 
triumphant  laughter.  And  they  saw  her  yet  more  clearly, 
growing  and  becoming  more  beautiful  even  as  Chantebled 
did,  as  if,  indeed,  she  herself  bloomed  with  all  the  health 
and  beauty  of  that  now  fruitful  land.  Yet  she  was  no 
more,  and  whenever  the  thought  returned  to  them  that 
they  would  never  see  her  again,  their  hands  sought  one 
another,  met  in  a  woful  clasp,  while  from  their  crushed 
and  mingling  hearts  it  seemed  as  if  all  life,  all  future,  were 
flowing  away  to  nihility.  Now  that  a  breach  had  been 
made,  would  not  every  other  happiness  be  carried  off  in 
turn  ?  And  though  the  ten  other  children  were  there, 
from  the  little  one  five  years  old  to  the  twins  who  were 
four-and-twenty,  all  clad  in  black,  all  gathered  in  tears 
around  their  sleeping  sister,  like  a  sorrow-stricken  battalion 
rendering  funeral  honors,  neither  the  father  nor  the  mother 
saw  or  counted  them  :  their  hearts  were  rent  by  the  loss  of 
the  daughter  who  had  departed,  carrying  away  with  her 
some  of  their  own  flesh.  And  in  that  long  bare  gallery 
which  the  four  candles  scarcely  lighted,  the  dawn  at  last 
arose  upon  that  death  watch,  that  last  leave-taking. 


3i2  FRUITFULNESS 

Then  grief  again  came  with  the  funeral  procession, 
which  spread  out  along  the  white  road  between  the  lofty 
poplars  and  the  green  corn,  that  road  over  which  Rose  had 
galloped  so  madly  through  the  storm.  All  the  relations  of 
the  Froments,  all  their  friends,  all  the  district,  had  come  to 
pay  a  tribute  of  emotion  at  so  sudden  and  swift  a  death. 
Thus,  this  time,  the  cortege  did  stretch  far  away  behind  the 
hearse,  draped  with  white  and  blooming  with  white  roses  in 
the  bright  sunshine.  The  whole  family  was  present ;  the 
mother  and  the  sisters  had  declared  that  they  would  only 
quit  their  loved  one  when  she  had  been  lowered  into  her 
last  resting-place.  And  after  the  family  came  the  friends, 
the  Beauchenes,  the  Seguins,  and  others.  But  Mathieu 
and  Marianne,  worn  out,  overcome  by  suffering,  no  longer 
recognized  people  amid  their  tears.  They  only  remem- 
bered on  the  morrow  that  they  must  have  seen  Morange, 
if  indeed  it  were  really  Morange  —  that  silent,  unobtrusive, 
almost  shadowy  gentleman,  who  had  wept  while  pressing 
their  hands.  And  in  like  fashion  Mathieu  fancied  that,  in 
some  horrible  dream,  he  had  seen  Constance's  spare  figure 
and  bony  profile  drawing  near  to  him  in  the  cemetery  after 
the  coffin  had  been  lowered  into  the  grave,  and  addressing 
vague  words  of  consolation  to  him,  though  he  fancied  that 
her  eyes  flashed  the  while  as  if  with  abominable  exultation. 

What  was  it  that  she  had  said  ?  He  no  longer  knew. 
Of  course  her  words  must  have  been  appropriate,  even  as 
her  demeanor  was  that  of  a  mourning  relative.  But  a 
memory  returned  to  him,  that  of  other  words  which  she 
had  spoken  when  promising  to  attend  the  two  weddings. 
She  had  then  in  bitter  fashion  expressed  a  wish  that  the 
good  fortune  of  Chantebled  might  continue.  But  they,  the 
Froments,  so  fruitful  and  so  prosperous,  were  now  stricken 
in  their  turn,  and  their  good  fortune  had  perhaps  departed 
forever  !  Mathieu  shuddered  ;  his  faith  in  the  future  was 
shaken ;  he  was  haunted  by  a  fear  of  seeing  prosperity  and 
fruitfulness  vanish,  now  that  there  was  that  open  breach. 


XVII 

A  YEAR  later  the  first  child  born  to  Ambroise  and  Andree, 
a  boy,  little  Leonce,  was  christened.  The  young  people  had 
been  married  very  quietly  six  weeks  after  the  death  of  Rose. 
And  that  christening  was  to  be  the  first  outing  for  Mathieu 
and  Marianne,  who  had  not  yet  fully  recovered  from  the 
terrible  shock  of  their  eldest  daughter's  death.  Moreover, 
it  was  arranged  that  after  the  ceremony  there  should  simply 
be  a  lunch  at  the  parents'  home,  and  that  one  and  all  should 
afterwards  be  free  to  return  to  his  or  her  avocations.  It 
was  impossible  for  the  whole  family  to  come,  and,  indeed, 
apart  from  the  grandfather  and  grandmother,  only  the  twins, 
Denis  and  Blaise,  and  the  latter's  wife  Charlotte,  were  ex- 
pected, together  with  the  godparents.  Beauchene,  the 
godfather,  had  selected  Madame  Seguin  as  his  commere,  for, 
since  the  death  of  Maurice,  Constance  shuddered  at  the 
bare  thought  of  touching  a  child.  At  the  same  time  she 
had  promised  to  be  present  at  the  lunch,  and  thus  there 
would  be  ten  of  them,  sufficient  to  fill  the  little  dining-room 
of  the  modest  flat  in  the  Rue  de  La  Boe'tie,  where  the 
young  couple  resided  pending  fortune's  arrival. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  morning.  Although  Mathieu  and 
Marianne  had  been  unwilling  to  set  aside  their  black  gar- 
ments even  for  this  rejoicing,  they  ended  by  evincing  some 
gentle  gayety  before  the  cradle  of  that  little  grandson,  whose 
advent  brought  them  a  renewal  of  hope.  Early  in  the 
winter  a  fresh  bereavement  had  fallen  on  the  family  ;  Blaise 
had  lost  his  little  Christophe,  then  two  and  a  half  years  old, 
through  an  attack  of  croup.  Charlotte,  however,  was  al- 
ready at  that  time  again  enceinte^  and  thus  the  grief  of  the 
first  days  had  turned  to  expectancy  fraught  with  emotion. 

3*3 


3H  FRUITFULNESS 

The  little  flat  in  the  Rue  de  La  Boetie  seemed  very 
bright  and  fragrant ;  it  was  perfumed  by  the  fair  grace  of 
Andree  and  illumined  by  the  victorious  charm  of  Ambroise, 
that  handsome  loving  couple  who,  arm  in  arm,  had  set  out 
so  bravely  to  conquer  the  world.  During  the  lunch,  too, 
there  was  the  formidable  appetite  and  jovial  laughter  of 
Beauchene,  who  gave  the  greatest  attention  to  his  commere 
Valentine,  jesting  and  paying  her  the  most  extravagant 
court,  which  afforded  her  much  amusement,  prone  as  she 
still  was  to  play  a  girlish  part,  though  she  was  already  forty- 
rive  and  a  grandmother  like  Marianne.  Constance  alone 
remained  grave,  scarce  condescending  to  bend  her  thin  lips 
into  a  faint  smile,  while  a  shadow  of  deep  pain  passed  over 
her  withered  face  every  time  that  she  glanced  round  that 
gay  table,  whence  new  strength,  based  on  the  invincible 
future,  arose  in  spite  of  all  the  recent  mourning. 

At  about  three  o'clock  Blaise  rose  from  the  table,  refus- 
ing to  allow  Beauchene  to  take  any  more  Chartreuse. 

"  It's  true,  he  is  right,  my  children,"  Beauchene  ended 
by  exclaiming  in  a  docile  way.  "  We  are  very  comforta- 
ble here,  but  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  we  should  return 
to  the  works.  And  we  must  deprive  you  of  Denis,  for  we 
need  his  help  over  a  big  building  affair.  That's  how  we 
are,  we  others,  we  don't  shirk  duty." 

Constance  had  also  risen.  "  The  carriage  must  be  wait- 
ing," said  she;  "will  you  take  it?" 

41  No,  no,  we  will  go  on  foot.  A  walk  will  clear  our 
heads." 

The  sky  was  overcast,  and  as  it  grew  darker  and  darker 
Ambroise,  going  to  the  window,  exclaimed  :  "  You  will  get 
wet." 

"  Oh  !  the  rain  has  been  threatening  ever  since  this  morn- 
ing, but  we  shall  have  time  to  get  to  the  works." 

It  was  then  understood  that  Constance  should  take  Char- 
lotte with  her  in  the  brougham  and  set  her  down  at  the 
door  of  the  little  pavilion  adjoining  the  factory.  As  for 
Valentine,  she  was  in  no  hurry  and  could  quietly  return  to 
the  Avenue  d'Antin,  which  was  close  by,  as  soon  as  the  sky 


FRUITFULNESS  315 

might  clear.  And  with  regard  to  Marianne  and  Mathieu, 
they  had  just  yielded  to  Andree's  affectionate  entreaties,  and 
had  arranged  to  spend  the  whole  day  and  dine  there,  return- 
ing to  Chantebled  by  the  last  train.  Thus  the  fete  would 
be  complete,  and  the  young  couple  were  enraptured  at  the 
prospect. 

The  departure  of  the  others  was  enlivened  by  a  curious 
incident,  a  mistake  which  Constance  made,  and  which 
seemed  very  comical  amid  all  the  mirth  promoted  by 
the  copious  lunch.  She  had  turned  towards  Denis,  and, 
looking  at  him  with  her  pale  eyes,  she  quietly  asked  him : 
"  Blaise,  my  friend,  will  you  give  me  my  boa  ?  I  must 
have  left  it  in  the  ante-room." 

Everybody  began  to  laugh,  but  she  failed  to  understand 
the  reason.  And  it  was  in  the  same  tranquil  way  as  before 
that  she  thanked  Denis  when  he  brought  her  the  boa:  "I 
am  obliged  to  you,  Blaise ;  you  are  very  amiable." 

Thereupon  came  an  explosion  ;  the  others  almost  choked 
with  laughter,  so  droll  did  her  quiet  assurance  seem  to  them. 
What  was  the  matter,  then  ?  Why  did  they  all  laugh  at 
her  in  that  fashion  ?  She  ended  by  suspecting  that  she  had 
made  a  mistake,  and  looked  more  attentively  at  the  twins. 

"  Ah,  yes,  it  isn't  Blaise,  but  Denis  !  But  it  can't  be 
helped.  I  am  always  mistaking  them  since  they  have  worn 
their  beards  trimmed  in  the  same  fashion." 

Thereupon  Marianne,  in  her  obliging  way,  in  order  to 
take  any  sting  away  from  the  laughter,  repeated  the  well- 
known  family  story  of  how  she  herself,  when  the  twins 
were  children  and  slept  together,  had  been  wont  to  awake 
them  in  order  to  identify  them  by  the  different  color  of 
their  eyes.  The  others,  Beauchene  and  Valentine,  then 
intervened  and  recalled  circumstances  under  which  they 
also  had  mistaken  the  twins  one  for  the  other,  so  perfect 
was  their  resemblance  on  certain  occasions,  in  certain  lights. 
And  it  was  amid  all  this  gay  animation  that  the  company 
separated  after  exchanging  all  sorts  of  embraces  and 
handshakes. 

Once  in  the  brougham,  Constance  spoke  but  seldom  to 


3i6  FRUITFULNESS 

Charlotte,  taking  as  a  pretext  a  violent  headache  which  the 
prolonged  lunch  had  increased.  With  a  weary  air  and  her 
eyes  half  closed  she  began  to  reflect.  After  Rose's  death, 
and  when  little  Christophe  likewise  had  been  carried  off,  a  re- 
vival of  hope  had  come  to  her,  for  all  at  once  she  had  felt  quite 
young  again.  But  when  she  consulted  Boutan  on  the 
matter  he  dealt  her  a  final  blow  by  informing  her  that  her 
hopes  were  quite  illusive.  Thus,  for  two  months  now,  her 
rage  and  despair  had  been  increasing.  That  very  morning 
at  that  christening,  and  now  in  that  carriage  beside  that 
young  woman  who  was  again  expecting  to  become  a  mother, 
it  was  this  which  poisoned  her  mind,  filled  her  with  jeal- 
ousy and  spite,  and  rendered  her  capable  of  any  evil  deed. 
The  loss  of  her  son,  the  childlessness  to  which  she  was 
condemned,  all  threw  her  into  a  state  of  morbid  perversity, 
fraught  with  dreams  of  some  monstrous  vengeance  which 
she  dared  not  even  confess  to  herself.  She  accused  the 
whole  world  of  being  in  league  to  crush  her.  Her  husband 
was  the  most  cowardly  and  idiotic  of  traitors,  for  he  be- 
trayed her  by  letting  some  fresh  part  of  the  works  pass  day 
by  day  into  the  hands  of  that  fellow  Blaise,  whose  wife  no 
sooner  lost  a  child  than  she  had  another.  She,  Constance, 
was  enraged  also  at  seeing  her  husband  so  gay  and  happy, 
since  she  had  left  him  to  his  own  base  courses.  He  still 
retained  his  air  of  victorious  superiority,  declaring  that  he 
had  remained  unchanged,  and  there  was  truth  in  this ;  for 
though,  instead  of  being  an  active  master  as  formerly,  he 
now  too  often  showed  himself  a  senile  prowler,  on  the  high 
road  to  paralysis,  he  yet  continued  to  be  a  practical  egotist, 
one  who  drew  from  life  the  greatest  sum  of  enjoyment 
possible.  He  was  following  his  destined  road,  and  if  he 
took  to  Blaise  it  was  simply  because  he  was  delighted  to 
have  found  an  intelligent,  hard-working  young  man  who 
spared  him  all  the  cares  and  worries  that  were  too  heavy 
for  his  weary  shoulders,  while  still  earning  for  him  the  money 
which  he  needed  for  his  pleasures.  Constance  knew  that 
something  in  the  way  of  a  partnership  arrangement  was 
about  to  be  concluded.  Indeed,  her  husband  must  have 


FRUITFULNESS  317 

already  received  a  large  sum  to  enable  him  to  make  good 
certain  losses  and  expenses  which  he  had  hidden  from  her. 
And  closing  her  eyes  as  the  brougham  rolled  along,  she 
poisoned  her  mind  by  ruminating  all  these  things,  scarce 
able  to  refrain  from  venting  her  fury  by  throwing  herself 
upon  that  young  woman  Charlotte,  well-loved  and  fruitful 
spouse,  who  sat  beside  her. 

Then  the  thought  of  Denis  occurred  to  her.  Why  was 
he  being  taken  to  the  works  ?  Did  he  also  mean  to  rob 
her  ?  Yet  she  knew  that  he  had  refused  to  join  his  brother, 
as  in  his  opinion  there  was  not  room  for  two  at  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  Boulevard  de  Grenelle.  Indeed,  Denis's 
ambition  was  to  direct  some  huge  works  by  himself;  he 
possessed  an  extensive  knowledge  of  mechanics,  and  this  it 
was  that  rendered  him  a  valuable  adviser  whenever  a  new 
model  of  some  important  agricultural  machine  had  to  be 
prepared  at  the  Beauchene  factory.  Constance  promptly  dis- 
missed him  from  her  thoughts ;  in  her  estimation  there  was  no 
reason  to  fear  him ;  he  was  a  mere  passer-by,  who  on  the 
morrow,  perhaps,  would  establish  himself  at  the  other  end 
of  France.  Then  once  more  the  thought  of  Blaise  came 
back  to  her,  imperative,  all-absorbing ;  and  it  suddenly 
occurred  to  her  that  if  she  made  haste  home  she  would  be 
able  to  see  Morange  alone  in  his  office  and  ascertain  many 
things  from  him  before  the  others  arrived.  It  was  evident 
that  the  accountant  must  know  something  of  the  partner- 
ship scheme,  even  if  it  were  as  yet  only  in  a  preliminary 
stage.  Thereupon  she  became  impassioned,  eager  to 
arrive,  certain  as  she  felt  of  obtaining  confidential  informa- 
tion from  Morange,  whom  she  deemed  to  be  devoted  to 
her. 

As  the  carriage  rolled  over  the  Jena  bridge  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  looked  out.  "  Man  Dieu  !  "  said  she,  "  what 
a  time  this  brougham  takes !  If  the  rain  would  only  fall  it 
would,  perhaps,  relieve  my  head  a  little." 

She  was  thinking,  however,  that  a  sharp  shower  would 
give  her  more  time,  as  it  would  compel  the  three  men, 
Beauchene,  Denis,  and  Blaise,  to  seek  shelter  in  some  door- 


318  FRUITFULNESS 

way.  And  when  the  carriage  reached  the  works  she  hastily 
stopped  the  coachman,  without  even  conducting  her  com- 
panion to  the  little  pavilion. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  won't  you,  my  dear  ? "  said  she ; 
"  you  only  have  to  turn  the  street  corner." 

When  they  had  both  alighted,  Charlotte,  smiling  and 
affectionate,  took  hold  of  Constance's  hand  and  retained  it 
for  a  few  moments  in  her  own. 

"  Of  course,"  she  replied,  uand  many  thanks.  You  are 
too  kind.  When  you  see  my  husband,  pray  tell  him  that 
you  left  me  safe,  for  he  grows  anxious  at  the  slightest 
thing." 

Thereupon  Constance  in  her  turn  had  to  smile  and  prom- 
ise with  many  professions  of  friendship  that  she  would  duly 
execute  the  commission.  Then  they  parted.  "  Au  revoir^ 
till  to-morrow"  —  "Yes,  yes,  till  to-morrow,  au  revoir." 

Eighteen  years  had  now  already  elapsed  since  Morange 
had  lost  his  wife  Valerie ;  and  nine  had  gone  by  since  the 
death  of  his  daughter  Reine.  Yet  it  always  seemed  as  if  he 
were  on  the  morrow  of  those  disasters,  for  he  had  retained 
his  black  garb,  and  still  led  a  cloister-like,  retired  life,  giving 
utterance  only  to  such  words  as  were  indispensable.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  had  again  become  a  good  model  clerk,  a 
correct  painstaking  accountant,  very  punctual  in  his  habits, 
and  rooted  as  it  were  to  the  office  chair  in  which  he  had 
taken  his  seat  every  morning  for  thirty  years  past.  The 
truth  was  that  his  wife  and  his  daughter  had  carried  off  with 
them  all  his  will-power,  all  his  ambitious  thoughts,  all  that 
he  had  momentarily  dreamt  of  winning  for  their  sakes  — 
a  large  fortune  and  a  luxurious  triumphant  life.  He,  who 
was  now  so  much  alone,  who  had  relapsed  into  childish 
timidity  and  weakness,  sought  nothing  beyond  his  humble 
daily  task,  and  was  content  to  die  in  the  shady  corner  to 
which  he  was  accustomed.  It  was  suspected,  however, 
that  he  led  a  mysterious  maniacal  life,  tinged  with  anxious 
jealousy,  at  home,  in  that  flat  of  the  Boulevard  de  Crenelle 
which  he  had  so  obstinately  refused  to  quit.  His  servant 
had  orders  to  admit  nobody,  and  she  herself  knew  nothing. 


FRUITFULNESS  319 

If  he  gave  her  free  admittance  to  the  dining-  and  drawing- 
rooms,  he  did  not  allow  her  to  set  foot  in  his  own  bed- 
room, formerly  shared  by  Valerie,  nor  in  that  which  Reine 
had  occupied.  He  himself  alone  entered  these  chambers, 
which  he  regarded  as  sanctuaries,  of  which  he  was  the  sole 
priest.  Under  pretence  of  sweeping  or  dusting,  he  would 
shut  himself  up  in  one  or  the  other  of  them  for  hours  at  a 
time.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  servant  tried  to  glance  inside, 
in  vain  that  she  listened  at  the  doors  when  he  spent  his 
holidays  at  home;  she  saw  nothing  and  heard  nothing. 
Nobody  could  have  told  what  relics  those  chapels  con- 
tained, nor  with  what  religious  cult  he  honored  them. 
Another  cause  of  surprise  was  his  niggardly,  avaricious  life, 
which,  as  time  went  on,  had  become  more  and  more  pro- 
nounced, in  such  wise  that  his  only  expenses  were  his  rental 
of  sixteen  hundred  francs,  the  wages  he  paid  to  his  servant, 
and  the  few  pence  per  day  which  she  with  difficulty 
extracted  from  him  to  defray  the  cost  of  food  and  house- 
keeping. His  salary  had  now  risen  to  eight  thousand 
francs  a  year,  and  he  certainly  did  not  spend  half  of  it. 
What  became,  then,  of  his  big  savings,  the  money  which  he 
refused  to  devote  to  enjoyment  ?  In  what  secret  hole,  and 
for  what  purpose,  what  secret  passion,  did  he  conceal  it  ? 
Nobody  could  tell.  But  amid  it  all  he  remained  very  gen- 
tle, and,  unlike  most  misers,  continued  very  cleanly  in  his 
habits,  keeping  his  beard,  which  was  now  white  as  snow, 
very  carefully  tended.  And  he  came  to  his  office  every 
morning  with  a  little  smile  on  his  face,  in  such  wise  that 
nothing  in  this  man  of  regular  methodical  life  revealed  the 
collapse  within  him,  all  the  ashes  and  smoldering  fire  which 
disaster  had  left  in  his  heart. 

By  degrees  a  link  of  some  intimacy  had  been  formed 
between  Constance  and  Morange.  When,  after  his  daughter's 
death,  she  had  seen  him  return  to  the  works  quite  a  wreck, 
she  had  been  stirred  by  deep  pity,  with  which  some  covert 
personal  anxiety  confusedly  mingled.  Maurice  was  des- 
tined to  live  five  years  longer,  but  she  was  already  haunted 
by  apprehensions,  and  could  never  meet  Morange  without 


32o  FRUITFULNESS 

experiencing  a  chilling  shudder,  for  he,  as  she  repeated  to 
herself,  had  lost  his  only  child.  "  Ah,  God  !  so  such  a 
catastrophe  was  possible."  Then,  on  being  stricken  her- 
self, on  experiencing  the  horrible  distress,  on  smarting  from 
the  sudden,  gaping,  incurable  wound  of  her  bereavement, 
she  had  drawn  nearer  to  that  brother  in  misfortune,  treating 
him  with  a  kindness  which  she  showed  to  none  other.  At 
times  she  would  invite  him  to  spend  an  evening  with  her, 
and  the  pair  of  them  would  chat  together,  or  more  often 
remain  silent,  face  to  face,  sharing  each  other's  woe.  Later 
on  she  had  profited  by  this  intimacy  to  obtain  information 
from  Morange  respecting  affairs  at  the  factory,  of  which  her 
husband  avoided  speaking.  It  was  more  particularly  since 
she  had  suspected  the  latter  of  bad  management,  blunders 
and  debts,  that  she  endeavored  to  turn  the  accountant  into 
a  confidant,  even  a  spy,  who  might  aid  her  to  secure  as 
much  control  of  the  business  as  possible.  And  this  was 
why  she  was  so  anxious  to  return  to  the  factory  that  day, 
and  profit  by  the  opportunity  to  see  Morange  privately,  per- 
suaded as  she  was  that  she  would  induce  him  to  speak  out 
in  the  absence  of  his  superiors. 

She  scarcely  tarried  to  take  off  her  gloves  and  her  bonnet. 
She  found  the  accountant  in  his  little  office,  seated  in  his 
wonted  place,  and  leaning  over  the  everlasting  ledger  which 
was  open  before  him. 

"  Why,  is  the  christening  finished  ? "  he  exclaimed  in 
astonishment. 

Forthwith  she  explained  her  presence  in  such  a  way  as  to 
enable  her  to  speak  of  what  she  had  at  heart.  "  Why,  yes. 
That  is  to  say,  I  came  away  because  I  had  such  a  dreadful 
headache.  The  others  have  remained  yonder.  And  as 
we  are  alone  here  together  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  might 
do  me  good  to  have  a  chat  with  you.  You  know  how 
highly  I  esteem  you.  Ah  !  I  am  not  happy,  not  happy 
at  all." 

She  had  sunk  upon  a  chair  overcome  by  the  tears  which 
she  had  been  restraining  so  long  in  the  presence  of  the  hap- 
piness of  others.  Quite  upset  at  seeing  her  in  this  condi- 


FRUITFULNESS  321 

tion,  having  little  strength  himself,  Morange  wished  to 
summon  her  maid.  He  almost  feared  that  she  might  have 
a  fainting  fit.  But  she  prevented  him. 

"  I  have  only  you  left  me,  my  friend,"  said  she.  "  Every- 
body else  forsakes  me,  everybody  is  against  me.  I  can  feel 
it ;  I  am  being  ruined  ;  folks  are  bent  on  annihilating  me, 
as  if  I  had  not  already  lost  everything  when  I  lost  my  child. 
And  since  you  alone  remain  to  me,  you  who  know  my  tor- 
ments, you  who  have  no  daughter  left  you,  pray  for  heaven's 
sake  help  me  and  tell  me  the  truth  !  In  that  wise  I  shall 
at  least  be  able  to  defend  myself." 

On  hearing  her  speak  of  his  daughter  Morange  also  had 
begun  to  weep.  And  now,  therefore,  she  might  question 
him,  it  was  certain  that  he  would  answer  and  tell  her  every- 
thing, overpowered  as  he  was  by  the  common  grief  which 
she  had  evoked.  Thus  he  informed  her  that  an  agreement 
was  indeed  on  the  point  of  being  signed  by  Blaise  and 
Beauchene,  only  it  was  not  precisely  a  deed  of  partnership. 
Beauchene  having  drawn  large  sums  from  the  strong-box 
of  the  establishment  for  expenses  which  he  could  not  con- 
fess—  a  horrible  story  of  blackmailing,  so  it  was  rumored 
—  had  been  obliged  to  make  a  confidant  of  Blaise,  the  trusty 
and  active  lieutenant  who  managed  the  establishment.  And 
he  had  even  asked  him  to  find  somebody  willing  to  lend  him 
some  money.  Thereupon  the  young  man  had  offered  it 
himself;  but  doubtless  it  was  his  father,  Mathieu  Froment, 
who  advanced  the  cash,  well  pleased  to  invest  it  in  the 
works  in  his  son's  name.  And  now,  with  the  view  of  put- 
ting everything  in  order,  it  had  been  resolved  that  the  prop- 
erty should  be  divided  into  six  parts,  and  that  one  of  these 
parts  or  shares  should  be  attributed  to  Blaise  as  reimburse- 
ment for  the  loan.  Thus  the  young  fellow  would  possess 
an  interest  of  one  sixth  in  the  establishment,  unless  indeed 
Beauchene  should  buy  him  out  again  within  a  stipulated 
period.  The  danger  was  that,  instead  of  freeing  himself  in 
this  fashion,  Beauchene  might  yield  to  the  temptation  of 
selling  the  other  parts  one  by  one,  now  that  he  was  gliding 
down  a  path  of  folly  and  extravagance. 


322  FRUITFULNESS 

Constance  listened  to  Morange,  quivering  and  quite  pale. 
"  Is  this  signed  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No,  not  yet.  But  the  papers  are  ready  and  will  be 
signed  shortly.  Moreover,  it  is  a  reasonable  and  necessary 
solution  of  the  difficulty." 

She  was  evidently  of  another  opinion.  A  feeling  of  re- 
volt possessed  her,  and  she  strove  to  think  of  some  decisive 
means  of  preventing  the  ruin  and  shame  which  in  her  opin- 
ion threatened  her.  "  My  God,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  How 
can  I  act  ?  "  she  gasped ;  and  then,  in  her  rage  at  finding 
no  device,  at  being  powerless,  this  cry  escaped  her :  "  Ah  ! 
that  scoundrel  Blaise  !  " 

Worthy  Morange  was  quite  moved  by  it.  Still  he  had 
not  fully  understood.  And  so,  in  his  quiet  way,  he  endeav- 
ored to  calm  Constance,  explaining  that  Blaise  had  a  very 
good  heart,  and  that  in  the  circumstances  in  question  he  had 
behaved  in  the  best  way  possible,  doing  all  that  he  could  to 
stifle  scandal,  and  even  displaying  great  disinterestedness. 
And  as  Constance  had  risen,  satisfied  with  knowing  the 
truth,  and  anxious  that  the  three  men  might  not  find  her 
there  on  their  arrival,  the  accountant  likewise  quitted  his 
chair,  and  accompanied  her  along  the  gallery  which  she  had 
to  follow  in  order  to  return  to  her  house. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  madame,"  said  Morange, 
"  that  the  young  man  has  made  no  base  calculations  in  the 
matter.  All  the  papers  pass  through  my  hands,  and  nobody 
could  know  more  than  I  know  myself.  Besides,  if  I  had 
entertained  the  slightest  doubt  of  any  machination,  I  should 
have  endeavored  to  requite  your  kindness  by  warning  you." 

She  no  longer  listened  to  him,  however ;  in  fact,  she  was 
anxious  to  get  rid  of  him,  for  all  at  once  the  long-threatening 
rain  had  begun  to  fall  violently,  lashing  the  glass  roof.  So 
dark  a  mass  of  clouds  had  overspread  the  sky  that  it  was 
almost  night  in  the  gallery,  though  four  o'clock  had  scarcely 
struck.  And  it  occurred  to  Constance  that  in  presence  of 
such  a  deluge  the  three  men  would  certainly  take  a  cab.  So 
she  hastened  her  steps,  still  followed,  however,  by  the 
accountant. 


FRUITFULNESS  323 

"  For  instance,"  he  continued,  "  when  it  was  a  question 
of  drawing  up  the  agreement " 

But  he  suddenly  paused,  gave  vent  to  a  hoarse  exclama- 
tion, and  stopped  her,  pulling  her  back  as  if  in  terror. 

"  Take  care  !  "  he  gasped. 

There  was  a  great  cavity  before  them.  Here,  at  the  end 
of  the  gallery,  before  reaching  the  corridor  which  com- 
municated with  the  private  house,  there  was  a  steam  lift 
of  great  power,  which  was  principally  used  for  lowering 
heavy  articles  to  the  packing  room.  It  only  worked  as  a 
rule  on  certain  days ;  on  all  others  the  huge  trap  remained 
closed.  When  the  appliance  was  working  a  watchman 
was  always  stationed  there  to  superintend  the  operations. 

"  Take  care  !  take  care  !  "  Morange  repeated,  shuddering 
with  terror. 

The  trap  was  open,  and  the  huge  cavity  gaped  before 
them ;  there  was  no  barrier,  nothing  to  warn  them  and 
prevent  them  from  making  a  fearful  plunge.  The  rain  still 
pelted  on  the  glass  roof,  and  the  darkness  had  become  so 
complete  in  the  gallery  that  they  had  walked  on  without 
seeing  anything  before  them.  Another  step  would  have 
hurled  them  to  destruction.  It  was  little  short  of  miraculous 
that  the  accountant  should  have  become  anxious  in  presence 
of  the  increasing  gloom  in  that  corner,  where  he  had  divined 
rather  than  perceived  the  abyss. 

Constance,  however,  still  failing  to  understand  her  com- 
panion, sought  to  free  herself  from  his  wild  grasp. 

"  But  look  !  "  he  cried. 

And  he  bent  forward  and  compelled  her  also  to  stoop  over 
the  cavity.  It  descended  through  three  floors  to  the  very 
lowest  basement,  like  a  well  of  darkness.  A  damp  odor 
arose  :  one  could  scarce  distinguish  the  vague  outlines  of 
thick  ironwork ;  alone,  right  at  the  bottom,  burnt  a  lantern, 
a  distant  speck  of  light,  as  if  the  better  to  indicate  the  depth 
and  horror  of  the  gulf.  Morange  and  Constance  drew  back 
again  blanching. 

And  now  Morange  burst  into  a  temper.  "  It  is  idiotic !  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  Why  don't  they  obey  the  regulations  !  As 


324  FRUITFULNESS 

a  rule  there  is  a  man  here,  a  man  expressly  told  off  for  this 
duty,  who  ought  not  to  stir  from  his  post  so  long  as  the 
trap  has  not  come  up  again.  Where  is  he  ?  What  on  earth 
can  the  rascal  be  up  to  ?  " 

The  accountant  again  approached  the  hole,  and  shouted 
down  it  in  a  fury  :  "  Bonnard  !  " 

No  reply  came :  the  pit  remained  bottomless,  black  and 
void. 

"  Bonnard  !    Bonnard  !  " 

And  still  nothing  was  heard,  not  a  sound ;  the  damp 
breath  of  the  darkness  alone  ascended  as  from  the  deep 
silence  of  the  tomb. 

Thereupon  Morange  resorted  to  action.  "  I  must  go 
down ;  I  must  find  Bonnard.  Can  you  picture  us  falling 
through  that  hole  to  the  very  bottom  ?  No,  no,  this  can- 
not be  allowed.  Either  he  must  close  this  trap  or  return 
to  his  post.  What  can  he  be  doing  ?  Where  can  he  be  ?  " 

Morange  had  already  betaken  himself  to  a  little  winding 
staircase,  by  which  one  reached  every  floor  beside  the  lift, 
when  in  a  voice  which  gradually  grew  more  indistinct,  he 
again  called :  "  I  beg  you,  madame,  pray  wait  for  me ; 
remain  there  to  warn  anybody  who  might  pass." 

Constance  was  alone.  The  dull  rattle  of  the  rain  on  the 
glass  above  her  continued,  but  a  little  livid  light  was  appear- 
ing as  a  gust  of  wind  carried  off  the  clouds.  And  in  that 
pale  light  Blaise  suddenly  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  gal- 
lery. He  had  just  returned  to  the  factory  with  Denis 
and  Beauchene,  and  had  left  his  companions  together  for 
a  moment,  in  order  to  go  to  the  workshops  to  procure 
some  information  they  required.  Preoccupied,  absorbed 
once  more  in  his  work,  he  came  along  with  an  easy  step, 
his  head  somewhat  bent.  And  when  Constance  saw  him 
thus  appear,  all  that  she  felt  in  her  heart  was  the  smart  of 
rancor,  a  renewal  of  her  anger  at  what  she  had  learnt  of 
that  agreement  which  was  to  be  signed  on  the  morrow  and 
which  would  despoil  her.  That  enemy  who  was  in  her 
home  and  worked  against  her,  a  revolt  of  her  whole  being 
urged  her  to  exterminate  him,  and  thrust  him  out  like  some 
usurper,  all  craft  and  falsehood. 


FRUITFULNESS  325 

He  drew  nearer.  She  was  in  the  dense  shadow  near  the 
wall,  so  that  he  could  not  see  her.  But  on  her  side,  as  he 
softly  approached  steeped  in  a  grayish  light,  she  could  see 
him  with  singular  distinctness.  Never  before  had  she  so 
plainly  divined  the  power  of  his  lofty  brow,  the  intelligence 
of  his  eyes,  the  firm  will  of  his  mouth.  And  all  at  once 
she  was  struck  with  fulgural  certainty ;  he  was  coming 
towards  the  cavity  without  seeing  it  and  he  would  assuredly 
plunge  into  the  depths  unless  she  should  stop  him  as  he 
passed.  But  a  little  while  before,  she,  like  himself,  had 
come  from  yonder,  and  would  have  fallen  unless  a  friendly 
hand  had  restrained  her;  and  the  frightful  shudder  of  that 
moment  yet  palpitated  in  her  veins ;  she  could  still  and 
ever  see  the  damp  black  pit  with  the  little  lantern  far 
below.  The  whole  horror  of  it  flashed  before  her  eyes  — 
the  ground  failing  one,  the  sudden  drop  with  a  great  shriek, 
and  the  smash  a  moment  afterwards. 

Blaise  drew  yet  nearer.  But  certainly  such  a  thing  was 
impossible ;  she  would  prevent  it,  since  a  little  motion  of 
her  hand  would  suffice.  Would  she  not  always  have  time 
to  stretch  out  her  arms  when  he  was  there  before  her  ? 
And  yet  from  the  recesses  of  her  being  a  very  clear  and 
frigid  voice  seemed  to  ascend,  articulating  brief  words  which 
rang  in  her  ears  as  if  repeated  by  a  trumpet  blast.  If  he 
should  die  it  would  be  all  over,  the  factory  would  never 
belong  to  him.  She  who  had  bitterly  lamented  that  she 
could  devise  no  obstacle  had  merely  to  let  this  helpful 
chance  take  its  own  course.  And  this,  indeed,  was  what 
the  voice  said,  what  it  repeated  with  keen  insistence,  never 
adding  another  syllable.  After  that  there  would  be  noth- 
ing. After  that  there  would  merely  remain  the  shattered 
remnants  of  a  suppressed  man,  and  a  pit  of  darkness 
splashed  with  blood,  in  which  she  discerned,  foresaw  noth- 
ing more.  What  would  happen  on  the  morrow  ?  She  did 
not  wish  to  know ;  indeed  there  would  be  no  morrow.  It 
was  solely  the  brutal  immediate  fact  which  the  imperious 
voice  demanded.  He  dead,  it  would  be  all  over,  he  would 
never  possess  the  works. 


326  FRUITFULNESS 

He  drew  nearer  still.  And  within  her  now  there  raged 
a  frightful  battle.  How  long  did  it  last  —  days?  years? 
Doubtless  but  a  few  seconds.  She  was  still  resolved  that 
she  would  stop  him  as  he  passed,  certain  as  she  felt  that 
she  would  conquer  her  horrible  thoughts  when  the  moment 
came  for  the  decisive  gesture.  And  yet  those  thoughts 
invaded  her,  became  materialized  within  her,  like  some 
physical  craving,  thirst  or  hunger.  She  hungered  for  that 
finish,  hungered  to  the  point  of  suffering,  seized  by  one 
of  those  sudden  desperate  longings  which  beget  crime  j 
such  as  when  a  passer-by  is  despoiled  and  throttled  at  the 
corner  of  a  street.  It  seemed  to  her  that  if  she  could  not 
satisfy  her  craving  she  herself  must  lose  her  life.  A  con- 
suming passion,  a  mad  desire  for  that  man's  annihilation 
filled  her  as  she  saw  him  approach.  She  could  now  see 
him  still  more  plainly  and  the  sight  of  him  exasperated 
her.  His  forehead,  his  eyes,  his  lips  tortured  her  like 
some  hateful  spectacle.  Another  step,  yet  one  more,  then 
another,  and  he  would  be  before  her.  Yes,  yet  another 
step,  and  she  was  already  stretching  out  her  hand  in  readi- 
ness to  stop  him  as  soon  as  he  should  brush  past. 

He  came  along.  What  was  it  that  happened  ?  O  God  ! 
When  he  was  there,  so  absorbed  in  his  thoughts  that  he 
brushed  against  her  without  feeling  her,  she  turned  to  stone. 
Her  hand  became  icy  cold,  she  could  not  lift  it,  it  hung  too 
heavily  from  her  arm.  And  amid  her  scorching  fever  a  great 
cold  shudder  came  upon  her,  immobilizing  and  stupefying 
her,  while  she  was  deafened  by  the  clamorous  voice  rising 
from  the  depths  of  her  being.  All  demur  was  swept  away  ; 
the  craving  for  that  death  remained  intense,  invincible, 
beneath  the  imperious  stubborn  call  of  the  inner  voice 
which  robbed  her  of  the  power  of  will  and  action.  He 
would  be  dead  and  he  would  never  possess  the  works. 
And  therefore,  standing  stiff  and  breathless  against  the  wall, 
she  did  not  stop  him.  She  could  hear  his  light  breathing, 
she  could  discern  his  profile,  then  the  nape  of  his  neck. 
He  had  passed.  Another  step,  another  step  !  And  yet  if 
she  had  raised  a  call  she  might  still  have  changed  the 


FRUITFULNESS  327 

course  of  destiny  even  at  that  last  moment.  She  fancied 
that  she  had  some  such  intention,  but  she  was  clenching 
her  teeth  tightly  enough  to  break  them.  And  he,  Blaise, 
took  yet  a  further  step,  still  advancing  quietly  and  con- 
fidently over  that  friendly  ground,  without  even  a  glance 
before  him,  absorbed  as  he  was  in  thoughts  of  his  work. 
And  the  ground  failed  him,  and  there  was  a  loud,  terrible 
cry,  a  sudden  gust  following  the  fall,  and  a  dull  crash  down 
below  in  the  depths  of  the  black  darkness. 

Constance  did  not  stir.  For  a  moment  she  remained  as 
if  petrified,  still  listening,  still  waiting.  But  only  deep 
silence  arose  from  the  abyss.  She  could  merely  hear  the 
rain  pelting  on  the  glass  roof  with  renewed  rage.  And 
thereupon  she  fled,  turned  into  the  passage,  re-entered  her 
drawing-room.  There  she  collected  and  questioned  herself. 
Had  she  desired  that  abominable  thing  ?  No,  her  will  had 
had  nought  to  do  with  it.  Most  certainly  it  had  been 
paralyzed,  prevented  from  acting.  If  it  had  been  possible 
for  the  thing  to  occur,  it  had  occurred  quite  apart  from 
her,  for  assuredly  she  had  been  absent.  Absent,  that  word 
reassured  her.  Yes,  indeed,  that  was  the  case,  she  had 
been  absent.  All  her  past  life  spread  out  behind  her, 
faultless,  pure  of  any  evil  action.  Never  had  she  sinned, 
never  until  that  day  had  any  consciousness  of  guilt  weighed 
upon  her  conscience.  An  honest  and  virtuous  woman, 
she  had  remained  upright  amidst  all  the  excesses  of  her 
husband.  An  impassioned  mother,  she  had  been  ascend- 
ing her  calvary  ever  since  her  son's  death.  And  this  recol- 
lection of  Maurice  alone  drew  her  for  a  moment  from  her 
callousness,  choked  her  with  a  rising  sob,  as  if  in  that 
direction  lay  her  madness,  the  vainly  sought  explanation  of 
the  crime.  Vertigo  again  fell  upon  her,  the  thought  of  her 
dead  son  and  of  the  other  being  master  in  his  place,  all  her 
perverted  passion  for  that  only  son  of  hers,  the  despoiled 
prince,  all  her  poisoned,  fermenting  rage  which  had  unhinged 
and  maddened  her,  even  to  the  point  of  murder.  Had  that 
monstrous  vegetation  growing  within  her  reached  her  brain 
then  ?  A  rush  of  blood  suffices  at  times  to  bedim  a  con- 


328  FRUITFULNESS 

science.  But  she  obstinately  clung  to  the  view  that  she 
had  been  absent ;  she  forced  back  her  tears  and  remained 
frigid.  No  remorse  came  to  her.  It  was  done,  and  'twas 
good  that  it  should  be  done.  It  was  necessary.  She  had 
not  pushed  him,  he  himself  had  fallen.  Had  she  not  been 
there  he  would  have  fallen  just  the  same.  And  so  since 
she  had  not  been  there,  since  both  her  brain  and  her  heart 
had  been  absent,  it  did  not  concern  her.  And  ever  and 
ever  resounded  the  words  which  absolved  her  and  chanted 
her  victory ;  he  was  dead,  and  would  never  possess  the 
works. 

Erect  in  the  middle  of  the  drawing-room,  Constance 
listened,  straining  her  ears.  Why  was  it  that  she  heard 
nothing  ?  How  long  they  were  in  going  down  to  pick  him 
up  !  Anxiously  waiting  for  the  tumult  which  she  expected, 
the  clamor  of  horror  which  would  assuredly  rise  from  the 
works,  the  heavy  footsteps,  the  loud  calls,  she  held  her 
breath,  quivering  at  the  slightest,  faintest  sound.  Several 
minutes  still  elapsed,  and  the  cosey  quietude  of  her  drawing- 
room  pleased  her.  That  room  was  like  an  asylum  of  bour- 
geois rectitude,  luxurious  dignity,  in  which  she  felt  protected, 
saved.  Some  little  objects  on  which  her  eyes  lighted,  a 
pocket  scent-bottle  ornamented  with  an  opal,  a  paper-knife 
of  burnished  silver  left  inside  a  book,  fully  reassured  her. 
She  was  moved,  almost  surprised  at  the  sight  of  them,  as 
if  they  had  acquired  some  new  and  particular  meaning. 
Then  she  shivered  slightly  and  perceived  that  her  hands 
were  icy  cold.  She  rubbed  them  together  gently,  wishing 
to  warm  them  a  little.  Why  was  it,  too,  that  she  now 
felt  so  tired  ?  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  just  returned 
from  some  long  walk,  from  some  accident,  from  some 
affray  in  which  she  had  been  bruised.  She  felt  within  her 
also  a  tendency  to  somnolence,  the  somnolence  of  satiety, 
as  if  she  had  feasted  too  copiously  off  some  spicy  dish, 
after  too  great  a  hunger.  Amid  the  fatigue  which 
benumbed  her  limbs  she  desired  nothing  more ;  apart 
from  her  sleepiness  all  that  she  felt  was  a  kind  of  aston- 
ishment that  things  should  be  as  they  were.  However, 


FRUITFULNESS  329 

she  had  again  begun  to  listen,  repeating  that  if  that  fright- 
ful silence  continued,  she  would  certainly  sink  upon  a  chair, 
close  her  eyes,  and  sleep.  And  at  last  it  seemed  to  her 
that  she  detected  a  faint  sound,  scarcely  a  breath,  far  away. 

What  was  it  ?  No,  there  was  nothing  yet.  Perhaps 
she  had  dreamt  that  horrible  scene,  perhaps  it  had  all  been 
a  nightmare ;  that  man  marching  on,  that  black  pit,  that 
loud  cry  of  terror !  Since  she  heard  nothing,  perhaps  noth- 
ing had  really  happened.  Were  it  true  a  clamor  would 
have  ascended  from  below  in  a  growing  wave  of  sound,  and 
a  distracted  rush  up  the  staircase  and  along  the  passages 
would  have  brought  her  the  news.  Then  again  she 
detected  the  faint  distant  sound,  which  seemed  to  draw  a 
little  nearer.  It  was  not  the  tramping  of  a  crowd  ;  it 
seemed  to  be  a  mere  footfall,  perhaps  that  of  some  pedes- 
trian on  the  quay.  Yet  no ;  it  came  from  the  works,  and 
now  it  was  quite  distinct ;  it  ascended  steps  and  then  sped 
along  a  passage.  And  the  steps  became  quicker,  and  a 
panting  could  be  heard,  so  tragical  that  she  at  last  divined 
that  the  horror  was  at  hand.  All  at  once  the  door  was 
violently  flung  open.  Morange  entered.  He  was  alone, 
beside  himself,  with  livid  face  and  scarce  able  to  stammer. 

"  He  still  breathes,  but  his  head  is  smashed ;  it  is  all 
over." 

"  What  ails  you  ?  "  she  asked.     "  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her,  agape.  He  had  hastened  upstairs  at  a 
run  to  ask  her  for  an  explanation,  for  he  had  quite  lost  his 
poor  head  over  that  unaccountable  catastrophe.  And  the 
apparent  ignorance  and  tranquillity  in  which  he  found  Con- 
stance completed  his  dismay. 

"  But  I  left  you  near  the  trap,"  said  he. 

"  Near  the  trap,  yes.  You  went  down,  and  I  immedi- 
ately came  up  here." 

"  But  before  I  went  down,"  he  resumed  with  despairing 
violence,  "  I  begged  you  to  wait  for  me  and  keep  a  watch 
on  the  hole,  so  that  nobody  might  fall  through  it." 

"  Oh  !  dear  no.  You  said  nothing  to  me,  or,  at  all  events, 
I  heard  nothing,  understood  nothing  of  that  kind." 


330  FRUITFULNESS 

In  his  terror  he  peered  into  her  eyes.  Assuredly  she  was 
lying.  Calm  as  she  might  appear,  he  could  detect  her  voice 
trembling.  Besides,  it  was  evident  she  must  still  have  been 
there,  since  he  had  not  even  had  time  to  get  below  before  it 
happened.  And  all  at  once  he  recalled  their  conversation, 
the  questions  she  had  asked  him  and  her  cry  of  hatred  against 
the  unfortunate  young  fellow  who  had  now  been  picked  up, 
covered  with  blood,  in  the  depths  of  that  abyss.  Beneath 
the  gust  of  horror  which  chilled  him,  Morange  could  only 
find  these  words:  "Well,  madame,  poor  Blaise  came  just 
behind  you  and  broke  his  skull." 

Her  demeanor  was  perfect ;  her  hands  quivered  as  she 
raised  them,  and  it  was  in  a  halting  voice  that  she  exclaimed  : 
"  Good  Lord  !  good  Lord,  what  a  frightful  misfortune." 

But  at  that  moment  an  uproar  arose  through  the  house. 
The  drawing-room  door  had  remained  open,  and  the  voices 
and  footsteps  of  a  number  of  people  drew  nearer,  became 
each  moment  more  distinct.  Orders  were  being  given  on 
the  stairs,  men  were  straining  and  drawing  breath,  there 
were  all  the  signs  of  the  approach  of  some  cumbrous  bur- 
den, carried  as  gently  as  possible. 

"  What !  is  he  being  brought  up  here  to  me  ?  "  exclaimed 
Constance  turning  pale,  and  her  involuntary  cry  would  have 
sufficed  to  enlighten  the  accountant  had  he  needed  it.  "  He 
is  being  brought  to  me  here  !  " 

o  o 

It  was  not  Morange  who  answered ;  he  was  stupefied  by 
the  blow.  But  Beauchene  abruptly  appeared  preceding 
the  body,  and  he  likewise  was  livid  and  beside  himself,  to 
such  a  degree  did  this  sudden  visit  of  death  thrill  him  with 
fear,  in  his  need  of  happy  life. 

"  Morange  will  have  told  you  of  the  frightful  catastrophe, 
my  dear,"  said  he.  "  Fortunately  Denis  was  there,  for  the 
question  of  responsibility  towards  his  family.  And  it  was 
Denis,  too,  who,  just  as  we  were  about  to  carry  the  poor 
fellow  home  to  the  pavilion,  opposed  it,  saying  that,  given 
his  wife's  condition,  we  should  kill  her  if  we  carried  him  to 
her  in  this  dying  state.  And  so  the  only  course  was  to 
bring  him  here,  was  it  not  ?  " 


FRUITFULNESS  331 

Then  he  quitted  his  wife  with  a  gesture  of  bewilderment, 
and  returned  to  the  landing,  where  one  could  hear  him  re- 
peating in  a  quivering  voice ;  "  Gently,  gently,  take  care 
of  the  balusters." 

The  lugubrious  train  entered  the  drawing-room.  Blaise 
had  been  laid  on  a  stretcher  provided  with  a  mattress. 
Denis,  as  pale  as  linen,  followed,  supporting  the  pillow  on 
which  rested  his  brother's  head.  A  little  streamlet  of  blood 
coursed  over  the  dying  man's  brow,  his  eyes  were  closed. 
And  four  factory  hands  held  the  shafts  of  the  stretcher. 
Their  heavy  shoes  crushed  down  the  carpet,  and  fragile 
articles  of  furniture  were  thrust  aside  anyhow  to  open  a 
passage  for  this  invasion  of  horror  and  of  fright. 

Amid  his  bewilderment,  an  idea  occurred  to  Beauchene, 
who  continued  to  direct  the  operation. 

"  No,  no,  don't  leave  him  there.  There  is  a  bed  in  the 
next  room.  We  will  take  him  up  very  gently  with  the 
mattress,  and  lay  him  with  it  on  the  bed." 

It  was  Maurice's  room ;  it  was  the  bed  in  which  Mau- 
rice had  died,  and  which  Constance  with  maternal  piety  had 
kept  unchanged,  consecrating  the  room  to  her  son's  mem- 
ory. But  what  could  she  say  ?  How  could  she  prevent 
Blaise  from  dying  there  in  his  turn,  killed  by  her  ? 

The  abomination  of  it  all,  the  vengeance  of  destiny 
which  exacted  this  sacrilege,  rilled  her  with  such  a  feeling 
of  revolt  that  at  the  moment  when  vertigo  was  about  to 
seize  her  and  the  flooring  began  to  flee  from  beneath  her 
feet,  she  was  lashed  by  it  and  kept  erect.  And  then  she 
displayed  extraordinary  strength,  will,  and  insolent  courage. 
When  the  stricken  man  passed  before  her,  her  puny  little 
frame  stiffened  and  grew.  She  looked  at  him,  and  her 
yellow  face  remained  motionless,  save  for  a  flutter  of  her 
eyelids  and  an  involuntary  nervous  twinge  on  the  left  side 
of  her  mouth,  which  forced  a  slight  grimace.  But  that 
was  all,  and  again  she  became  perfect  both  in  words  and 
gesture,  doing  and  saying  what  was  necessary  without 
lavishness,  but  like  one  simply  thunderstruck  by  the  sud- 
denness of  the  catastrophe. 


332  FRUITFULNESS 

However,  the  orders  had  been  carried  out  in  the  bed- 
room, and  the  bearers  withdrew  greatly  upset.  Down 
below,  directly  the  accident  had  been  discovered,  old 
Moineaud  had  been  told  to  take  a  cab  and  hasten  to  Dr. 
Boutan's  to  bring  him  back  with  a  surgeon,  if  one  could  be 
found  on  the  way. 

"  All  the  same,  I  prefer  to  have  him  here  rather  than  in 
the  basement,"  Beauchene  repeated  mechanically  as  he  stood 
before  the  bed.  "  He  still  breathes.  There !  see,  it  is 
quite  apparent.  Who  knows  ?  Perhaps  Boutan  may  be 
able  to  pull  him  through,  after  all." 

Denis,  however,  entertained  no  illusions.  He  had  taken 
one  of  his  brother's  cold  yielding  hands  in  his  own  and  he 
could  feel  that  it  was  again  becoming  a  mere  thing,  as  if 
broken,  wrenched  away  from  life  in  that  great  fall.  For  a 
moment  he  remained  motionless  beside  the  death-bed,  with 
the  mad  hope  they  he  might,  perhaps,  by  his  clasp  infuse  a 
little  of  the  blood  in  his  own  heart  into  the  veins  of  the 
dying  man.  Was  not  that  blood  common  to  them  both  ? 
Had  not  their  twin  brotherhood  drunk  life  from  the  same 
source  ?  It  was  the  other  half  of  himself  that  was  about  to 
die.  Down  below,  after  raising  a  loud  cry  of  heartrend- 
ing distress,  he  had  said  nothing.  Now  all  at  once  he 
spoke. 

"  One  must  go  to  Ambroise's  to  warn  my  mother  and 
father.  Since  he  still  breathes,  perhaps  they  will  arrive 
soon  enough  to  embrace  him." 

"  Shall  I  go  to  fetch  them  ?  "  Beauchene  good-naturedly 
inquired. 

"  No,  no  !  thanks.  I  did  at  first  think  of  asking  that 
service  of  you,  but  I  have  reflected.  Nobody  but  myself 
can  break  this  horrible  news  to  mamma.  And  nothing 
must  be  done  as  yet  with  regard  to  Charlotte.  We  will 
see  about  that  by  and  by,  when  I  come  back.  I  only  hope 
that  death  will  have  a  little  patience,  so  that  I  may  find  my 
poor  brother  still  alive." 

He  leant  forward  and  kissed  Blaise,  who  with  his  eyes 
closed  remained  motionless,  still  breathing  faintly.  Then 


FRUITFULNESS  333 

distractedly  Denis  printed  another  kiss  upon  his  hand  and 
hurried  off. 

Constance  meantime  was  busying  herself,  calling  the 
maid,  and  requesting  her  to  bring  some  warm  water  in 
order  that  they  might  wash  the  sufferer's  blood-stained  brow. 
It  was  impossible  to  think  of  taking  off  his  jacket ;  they 
had  to  content  themselves  with  doing  the  little  they  could 
to  improve  his  appearance  pending  the  arrival  of  the  doctor. 
And  during  these  preparations,  Beauchene,  haunted, 
worried  by  the  accident,  again  began  to  speak  of  it. 

"  It  is  incomprehensible.  One  can  hardly  believe  such 
a  stupid  mischance  to  be  possible.  Down  below  the  trans- 
mission gearing  gets  out  of  order,  and  this  prevents  the 
mechanician  from  sending  the  trap  up  again.  Then,  up 
above,  Bonnard  gets  angry,  calls,  and  at  last  decides  to  go 
down  in  a  fury  when  he  finds  that  nobody  answers  him. 
Then  Morange  arrives,  flies  into  a  temper,  and  goes  down 
in  his  turn,  exasperated  at  receiving  no  answer  to  his  calls 
for  Bonnard.  Poor  Bonnard  !  he's  sobbing ;  he  wanted  to 
kill  himself  when  he  saw  the  fine  result  of  his  absence." 

At  this  point  Beauchene  abruptly  broke  off  and  turned 
to  Constance.  "  But  what  about  you  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Mo- 
range  told  me  that  he  had  left  you  up  above  near  the  trap." 

She  was  standing  in  front  of  her  husband,  in  the  full 
light  which  came  through  the  window.  And  again  did  her 
eyelids  beat  while  a  little  nervous  twinge  slightly  twisted 
her  mouth  on  the  left  side.  That  was  all. 

"  I  ?  Why  I  had  gone  down  the  passage.  I  came  back 
here  at  once,  as  Morange  knows  very  well." 

A  moment  previously,  Morange,  annihilated,  his  legs 
failing  him,  had  sunk  upon  a  chair.  Incapable  of  render- 
ing any  help,  he  sat  there  silent,  awaiting  the  end.  When 
he  heard  Constance  lie  in  that  quiet  fashion,  he  looked  at 
her.  The  assassin  was  herself,  he  no  longer  doubted  it. 
And  at  that  moment  he  felt  a  craving  to  proclaim  it,  to  cry 
it  aloud. 

"  Why,  he  thought  that  he  had  begged  you  to  remain  there 
on  the  watch,"  Beauchene  resumed,  addressing  his  wife. 


334  FRUITFULNESS 

"At  all  events  his  words  never  reached  me,"  Constance 
duly  answered.  "  Should  I  have  moved  if  he  had  asked  me 
to  do  that  ?  "  And  turning  towards  the  accountant  she,  in 
her  turn,  had  the  courage  to  fix  her  pale  eyes  upon  him. 
"  Just  remember,  Morange,  you  rushed  down  like  a  mad- 
man, you  said  nothing  to  me,  and  I  went  on  my  way." 

Beneath  those  pale  eyes,  keen  as  steel,  which  dived  into 
his  own,  Morange  was  seized  with  abject  fear.  All  his 
weakness,  his  cowardice  of  heart  returned.  Could  he  accuse 
her  of  such  an  atrocious  crime  ?  He  pictured  the  conse- 
quences. And  then,  too,  he  no  longer  knew  if  he  were 
right  or  not ;  his  poor  maniacal  mind  was  lost. 

"  It  is  possible,"  he  stammered,  "  I  may  simply  have 
thought  I  spoke.  And  it  must  be  so  since  it  can't  be 
otherwise." 

Then  he  relapsed  into  silence  with  a  gesture  of  utter  las- 
situde. The  complicity  demanded  was  accepted.  For  a 
moment  he  thought  of  rising  to  see  if  Blaise  still  breathed ; 
but  he  did  not  dare.  Deep  peacefulness  fell  upon  the 
room. 

Ah  !  how  great  was  the  anguish,  the  torture  in  the  cab, 
when  Blaise  brought  Mathieu  and  Marianne  back  with  him. 
He  had  at  first  spoken  to  them  simply  of  an  accident,  a 
rather  serious  fall.  But  as  the  vehicle  rolled  along  he  had 
lost  his  self-possession,  weeping  and  confessing  the  truth  in 
response  to  their  despairing  questions.  Thus,  when  they 
at  last  reached  the  factory,  they  doubted  no  longer,  their 
child  was  dead.  Work  had  just  been  stopped,  and  they 
recalled  their  visit  to  the  place  on  the  morrow  of  Maurice's 
death.  They  were  returning  to  the  same  stillness,  the  same 
grave-like  silence.  All  the  rumbling  life  had  suddenly 
ceased,  the  machines  were  cold  and  mute,  the  workshops 
darkened  and  deserted.  Not  a  sound  remained,  not  a  soul, 
not  a  puff  of  that  steam  which  was  like  the  very  breath  of 
the  place.  He  who  had  watched  over  its  work  was  dead, 
and  it  was  dead  like  him.  Then  their  affright  increased 
when  they  passed  from  the  factory  to  the  house  amid  that 
absolute  solitude,  the  gallery  steeped  in  slumber,  the  stair- 


FRUITFULNESS  335 

case  quivering,  all  the  doors  upstairs  open,  as  in  some  unin- 
habited place  long  since  deserted.  In  the  ante-room  they 
found  no  servant.  And  it  was  indeed  in  the  same  tragedy 
of  sudden  death  that  they  again  participated,  only  this  time 
it  was  their  own  son  whom  they  were  to  find  in  the  same 
room,  on  the  same  bed,  frigid,  pale,  and  lifeless. 

Blaise  had  just  expired.  Boutan  was  there  at  the  head 
of  the  bed,  holding  the  inanimate  hand  in  which  the  final 
pulsation  of  blood  was  dying  away.  And  when  he  saw 
Mathieu  and  Marianne,  who  had  instinctively  crossed  the 
disorderly  drawing-room,  rushing  into  that  bedchamber 
whose  odor  of  nihility  they  recognized,  he  could  but  mur- 
mur in  a  voice  full  of  sobs  : 

"  My  poor  friends,  embrace  him ;  you  will  yet  have  a 
little  of  his  last  breath." 

That  breath  had  scarce  ceased,  and  the  unhappy  mother, 
the  unhappy  father,  had  already  sprung  forward,  kissing 
those  lips  that  exhaled  the  final  quiver  of  life,  and  sobbing 
and  crying  their  distress  aloud.  Their  Blaise  was  dead. 
Like  Rose,  he  had  died  suddenly,  a  year  later,  on  a  day  of 
festivity.  Their  heart  wound,  scarce  closed  as  yet,  opened 
afresh  with  a  tragic  rending.  Amid  their  long  felicity  this 
was  the  second  time  that  they  were  thus  terribly  recalled  to 
human  wretchedness ;  this  was  the  second  hatchet  stroke 
which  fell  on  the  flourishing,  healthy,  happy  family.  And 
their  fright  increased.  Had  they  not  yet  finished  paying 
their  accumulated  debt  to  misfortune  ?  Was  slow  destruc- 
tion now  arriving  with  blow  following  blow  ?  Already 
since  Rose  had  quitted  them,  her  bier  strewn  with  flowers, 
they  had  feared  to  see  their  prosperity  and  fruitfulness 
checked  and  interrupted  now  that  there  was  an  open  breach. 
And  to-day,  through  that  bloody  breach,  their  Blaise  departed 
in  the  most  frightful  of  fashions,  crushed  as  it  were  by  the 
jealous  anger  of  destiny.  And  now  what  other  of  their 
children  would  be  torn  away  from  them  on  the  morrow  to 
pay  in  turn  the  ransom  of  their  happiness  ? 

Mathieu  and  Marianne  long  remained  sobbing  on  their 
knees  beside  the  bed.  Constance  stood  a  few  paces  away, 


336  FRUITFULNESS 

silent,  with  an  air  of  quivering  desolation.  Beauchene,  as 
if  to  combat  that  fear  of  death  which  made  him  shiver,  had 
a  moment  previously  seated  himself  at  the  little  writing- 
table  formerly  used  by  Maurice,  which  had  been  left  in  the 
drawing-room  like  a  souvenir.  And  he  then  strove  to 
draw  up  a  notice  to  his  workpeople,  to  inform  them  that 
the  factory  would  remain  closed  until  the  day  after  the 
funeral.  He  was  vainly  seeking  words  when  he  perceived 
Denis  coming  out  of  the  bedroom,  where  he  had  wept  all 
his  tears  and  set  his  whole  heart  in  the  last  kiss  which  he 
had  bestowed  on  his  departed  brother.  Beauchene  called 
him,  as  if  desirous  of  diverting  him  from  his  gloomy  thoughts. 
"  There,  sit  down  here  and  continue  this,"  said  he. 

Constance,  in  her  turn  entering  the  drawing-room,  heard 
those  words.  They  were  virtually  the  same  as  the  words 
which  her  husband  had  pronounced  when  making  Blaise 
seat  himself  at  that  same  table  of  Maurice's,  on  the  day 
when  he  had  given  him  the  place  of  that  poor  boy,  whose 
body  almost  seemed  to  be  still  lying  on  the  bed  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  And  she  recoiled  with  fright  on  seeing  Denis 
seated  there  and  writing.  Had  not  Blaise  resuscitated  ? 
Even  as  she  had  mistaken  the  twins  one  for  the  -other  that 
very  afternoon  on  rising  from  the  gay  baptismal  lunch,  so 
now  again  she  saw  Blaise  in  Denis,  the  pair  of  them  so 
similar  physically  that  in  former  times  their  parents  had 
only  been  able  to  distinguish  them  by  the  different  color  of 
their  eyes.  And  thus  it  was  as  if  Blaise  returned  and 
resumed  his  place;  Blaise,  who  would  possess  the  works 
although  she  had  killed  him.  She  had  made  a  mistake ; 
dead  as  he  was,  he  would  nevertheless  have  the  works.  She 
had  killed  one  of  those  Froments,  but  behold  another  was 
born.  When  one  died  his  brother  filled  up  the  breach. 
And  her  crime  then  appeared  to  her  such  a  useless  one,  such 
a  stupid  one,  that  she  was  aghast  at  it,  the  hair  on  the  nape 
of  her  neck  standing  up,  while  she  burst  into  a  cold  sweat 
of  fear,  and  recoiled  as  from  a  spectre. 

"  It  is  a  notice  for  the  workpeople,"  Beauchene  repeated. 
"  We  will  have  it  posted  at  the  entrance." 


FRUITFULNESS  337 

She  wished  to  be  brave,  and,  approaching  her  husband, 
she  said  to  him  :  "  Draw  it  up  yourself.  Why  give  Blaise 
the  trouble  at  such  a  moment  as  this  ? " 

She  had  said  "  Blaise  " ;  and  once  more  an  icy  sensation 
of  horror  came  over  her.  Unconsciously  she  had  heard 
herself  saying  yonder,  in  the  ante-room :  "  Blaise,  where 
did  I  put  my  boa  ?  "  And  it  was  Denis  who  had  brought  it 
to  her.  Of  what  use  had  it  been  for  her  to  kill  Blaise, 
since  Denis  was  there  ?  When  death  mows  down  a  soldier 
of  life,  another  is  always  ready  to  take  the  vacant  post 
of  combat. 

But  a  last  defeat  awaited  her.  Mathieu  and  Marianne 
reappeared,  while  Morange,  seized  with  a  need  of  motion, 
came  and  went  with  an  air  of  stupefaction,  quite  losing  his 
wits  amid  his  dreadful  sufferings,  those  awful  things  which 
could  but  unhinge  his  narrow  mind. 

"  I  am  going  down,"  stammered  Marianne,  trying  to  wipe 
away  her  tears  and  to  remain  erect.  "  I  wish  to  see  Char- 
lotte, and  prepare  and  tell  her  of  the  misfortune.  I  alone 
can  find  the  words  to  say,  so  that  she  may  not  die  of  the 
shock,  circumstanced  as  she  is." 

But  Mathieu,  full  of  anxiety,  sought  to  detain  his  wife, 
and  spare  her  this  fresh  trial.  "  No,  I  beg  you,"  he  said ; 
"  Denis  will  go,  or  I  will  go  myself." 

With  gentle  obstinacy,  however,  she  still  went  towards 
the  stairs.  "  I  am  the  only  one  who  can  tell  her  of  it,  I 
assure  you  —  I  shall  have  strength " 

But  all  at  once  she  staggered  and  fainted.  It  became 
necessary  to  lay  her  on  a  sofa  in  the  drawing-room.  And 
when  she  recovered  consciousness,  her  face  remained  quite 
white  and  distorted,  and  an  attack  of  nausea  came  upon  her. 
Then,  as  Constance,  with  an  air  of  anxious  solicitude,  rang 
for  her  maid  and  sent  for  her  little  medicine-chest,  Mathieu 
confessed  the  truth,  which  hitherto  had  been  kept  secret ; 
Marianne,  like  Charlotte,  was  enceinte.  It  confused  her  a 
little,  he  said,  since  she  was  now  three-and-forty  years  old ; 
and  so  they  had  not  mentioned  it.  "  Ah  !  poor  brave  wife  ! " 
he  added.  "  She  wished  to  spare  our  daughter-in-law  too 


338  FRUITFULNESS 

great  a  shock ;  I  trust  that  she  herself  will  not  be  struck 
down  by  it." 

Enceinte,  good  heavens  !  As  Constance  heard  this,  it 
seemed  as  if  a  bludgeon  were  falling  on  her  to  make  her 
defeat  complete.  And  so,  even  if  she  should  now  let  Denis, 
in  his  turn,  kill  himself,  another  Froment  was  coming  who 
would  replace  him.  There  was  ever  another  and  another 
of  that  race  —  a  swarming  of  strength,  an  endless  fountain 
of  life,  against  which  it  became  impossible  to  battle.  Amid 
her  stupefaction  at  finding  the  breach  repaired  when  scarce 
opened,  Constance  realized  her  powerlessness  and  nothing- 
ness, childless  as  she  was  fated  to  remain.  And  she  felt 
vanquished,  overcome  with  awe,  swept  away  as  it  were 
herself;  thrust  aside  by  the  victorious  flow  of  everlasting 
Fruitfulness. 


XVIII 

FOURTEEN  months  later  there  was  a  festival  at  Chantebled. 
Denis,  who  had  taken  Blaise's  place  at  the  factory,  was 
married  to  Marthe  Desvignes.  And  after  all  the  grievous 
mourning  this  was  the  first  smile,  the  bright  warm  sun  of 
springtime,  so  to  say,  following  severe  winter.  Mathieu 
and  Marianne,  hitherto  grief-stricken  and  clad  in  black, 
displayed  a  gayety  tinged  with  soft  emotion  in  presence  of 
the  sempiternal  renewal  of  life.  The  mother  had  been 
willing  to  don  less  gloomy  a  gown,  and  the  father  had 
agreed  to  defer  no  longer  a  marriage  that  had  long  since 
been  resolved  upon,  and  was  necessitated  by  all  sorts  of 
considerations.  For  more  than  two  years  now  Rose  had 
been  sleeping  in  the  little  cemetery  of  Janville,  and  for 
more  than  a  year  Blaise  had  joined  her  there,  beneath  flow- 
ers which  were  ever  fresh.  And  the  souvenir  of  the  dear 
dead  ones,  whom  they  all  visited,  and  who  had  remained 
alive  in  all  their  hearts,  was  to  participate  in  the  coming 
festival.  It  was  as  if  they  themselves  had  decided  with 
their  parents  that  the  hour  for  the  espousals  had  struck, 
and  that  regret  for  their  loss  ought  no  longer  to  bar  the  joy 
of  growth  and  increase. 

Denis's  installation  at  the  Beauchene  works  in  his 
brother's  place  had  come  about  quite  naturally.  If  he  had 
not  gone  thither  on  leaving  the  science  school  where  he 
had  spent  three  years,  it  was  simply  because  the  position 
was  at  that  time  already  held  by  Blaise.  All  his  technical 
studies  marked  him  out  for  the  post.  In  a  single  day  he 
had  fitted  himself  for  it,  and  he  simply  had  to  take  up  his 
quarters  in  the  little  pavilion,  Charlotte  having  fled  to 
Chantebled  with  her  little  Berthe  directly  after  the  horrible 

339 


340  FRUITFULNESS 

catastrophe.  It  should  be  added  that  Denis'  entry  into 
the  establishment  offered  a  convenient  solution  with  regard 
to  the  large  sum  of  money  lent  to  Beauchene,  which,  it  had 
been  arranged,  should  be  reimbursed  by  a  sixth  share  in  the 
factory.  That  money  came  from  the  family,  and  one 
brother  simply  took  the  place  of  the  other,  signing  the 
agreement  which  the  deceased  would  have  signed.  With 
delicate  rectitude,  however,  Denis  insisted  that  out  of  his 
share  of  the  profits  an  annuity  should  be  assigned  to  Char- 
lotte, his  brother's  widow. 

Thus  matters  were  settled  in  a  week,  in  the  manner  that 
circumstances  logically  demanded,  and  without  possibility  of 
discussion.  Constance,  bewildered  and  overwhelmed,  was 
not  even  able  to  struggle.  Her  husband  reduced  her  to 
silence  by  repeating  :  "  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  I 
must  have  somebody  to  help  me,  and  it  is  just  as  well  to 
take  Denis  as  a  stranger.  Besides,  if  he  worries  me  I  will 
buy  him  out  within  a  year  and  give  him  his  dismissal !  " 

At  this  Constance  remained  silent  to  avoid  casting  his 
ignominy  in  his  face,  amid  her  despair  at  feeling  the  walls 
of  the  house  crumble  and  fall,  bit  by  bit,  upon  her. 

Once  installed  at  the  works,  Denis  considered  that  the 
time  had  come  to  carry  out  the  matrimonial  plans  which  he 
had  long  since  arranged  with  Marthe  Desvignes.  The  latter, 
Charlotte's  younger  sister  and  at  one  time  the  inseparable 
friend  of  Rose,  had  been  waiting  for  him  for  nearly  three 
years  now,  with  her  bright  smile  and  air  of  affectionate  good 
sense.  They  had  known  one  another  since  childhood,  and 
had  exchanged  many  a  vow  along  the  lonely  paths  of  Jan- 
ville.  But  they  had  said  to  one  another  that  they  would  do 
nothing  prematurely,  that  for  the  happiness  of  a  whole  life- 
time one  might  well  wait  until  one  was  old  enough  and 
strong  enough  to  undertake  family  duties.  Some  people 
were  greatly  astonished  that  a  young  man  whose  future  was 
so  promising,  and  whose  position  at  twenty-six  years  of  age 
was  already  a  superb  one,  should  thus  obstinately  espouse  a 
penniless  girl.  Mathieu  and  Marianne  smiled,  however, 
and  consented,  knowing  their  son's  good  reasons.  He  had 


FRUITFULNESS  341 

no  desire  to  marry  a  rich  girl  who  would  cost  him  more 
than  she  brought,  and  he  was  delighted  at  having  discovered 
a  pretty,  healthy,  and  very  sensible  and  skilful  young  woman, 
who  would  be  at  all  times  his  companion,  helpmate,  and 
consoler.  He  feared  no  surprises  with  her,  for  he  had 
studied  her ;  she  united  charm  and  good  sense  with  kindli- 
ness, all  that  was  requisite  for  the  happiness  of  a  household. 
And  he  himself  was  very  good-natured,  prudent,  and  sensi- 
ble, and  she  knew  it  and  willingly  took  his  arm  to  tread 
life's  path  with  him,  certain  as  she  felt  that  they  would 
thus  walk  on  together  until  life's  end  should  be  reached, 
ever  advancing  with  the  same  tranquil  step  under  the  divine 
and  limpid  sun  of  reason  merged  in  love. 

Great  preparations  were  made  at  Chantebled  on  the  day 
before  the  wedding.  Nevertheless,  the  ceremony  was  to 
remain  of  an  intimate  character,  on  account  of  the  recent 
mourning.  The  only  guests,  apart  from  members  of  the 
family,  were  the  Seguins  and  the  Beauchenes,  and  even  the 
latter  were  cousins.  So  there  would  scarcely  be  more  than 
a  score  of  them  altogether,  and  only  a  lunch  was  to  be 
given.  One  matter  which  gave  them  some  brief  concern 
was  to  decide  where  to  set  the  table,  and  how  to  decorate 
it.  Those  early  days  of  July  were  so  bright  and  warm  that 
they  resolved  to  place  it  out  of  doors  under  the  trees.  There 
was  a  fitting  and  delightful  spot  in  front  of  the  old  shooting- 
box,  the  primitive  pavilion,  which  had  been  their  first  resi- 
dence on  their  arrival  in  the  Janville  district.  That  pavilion 
was  indeed  like  the  family  nest,  the  hearth  whence  it  had 
radiated  over  the  surrounding  region.  As  the  pavilion  had 
threatened  ruin,  Mathieu  had  repaired  and  enlarged  it  with 
the  idea  of  retiring  thither  with  Marianne,  and  Charlotte 
and  her  children,  as  soon  as  he  should  cede  the  farm  to  his 
son  Gervais,  that  being  his  intention.  He  was,  indeed, 
pleased  with  the  idea  of  living  in  retirement  like  a  patri- 
arch, like  a  king  who  had  willingly  abdicated,  but  whose 
wise  counsel  was  still  sought  and  accepted.  In  place  of 
the  former  wild  garden  a  large  lawn  now  stretched  before 
the  pavilion,  surrounded  by  some  beautiful  trees,  elms  and 


342  FRUITFULNESS 

hornbeams.  These  Mathieu  had  planted,  and  he  had 
watched  thorn  grow ;  thus  they  seemed  to  him  to  be  almost 
part  of  his  flesh.  But  his  real  favorite  was  an  oak  tree, 
nearly  twenty  years  of  age  and  already  sturdy,  which  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  lawn,  where  he  had  planted  it  with 
Marianne,  who  had  held  the  slender  sapling  in  position 
while  he  plied  his  spade  on  the  day  when  they  had  founded 
their  domain  of  Chantebled.  And  near  this  oak,  which 
thus  belonged  to  their  robust  family,  there  was  a  basin  of 
living  water,  fed  by  the  captured  springs  of  the  plateau  — 
water  whose  crystalline  song  made  the  spot  one  of  continual 

joy- 
it  was  here  then  that  a  council  was  held  on  the  day  be- 
fore the  wedding.  Mathieu  and  Marianne  repaired  thither 
to  see  what  preparations  would  be  necessary,  and  they  found 
Charlotte  with  a  sketch-book  on  her  knees,  rapidly  finishing 
an  impression  of  the  oak  tree. 

"  What  is  that  —  a  surprise  ?  "  they  asked. 
She  smiled  with  some  confusion.     "  Yes,  yes,  a  surprise  ; 
you  will  see." 

Then  she  confessed  that  for  a  fortnight  past  she  had  been 
designing  in  water  colors  a  series  of  menu  cards  for  the 
wedding  feast.  And,  prettily  and  lovingly  enough,  her  idea 
had  been  to  depict  children's  games  and  children's  heads ; 
indeed,  all  the  members  of  the  family  in  their  childish  days. 
She  had  taken  their  likenesses  from  old  photographs,  and 
her  sketch  of  the  oak  tree  was  to  serve  as  a  background  for 
the  portraits  of  the  two  youngest  scions  of  the  house  — 
little  Benjamin  and  little  Guillaume. 

Mathieu  and  Marianne  were  delighted  with  that  fleet 
procession  of  little  faces  all  white  and  pink  which  they  per- 
fectly recognized  as  they  saw  them  pass  before  their  eyes. 
There  were  the  twins  nestling  in  their  cradle,  locked  in  one 
another's  arms  ;  there  was  Rose,  the  dear  lost  one,  in  her 
little  shift ;  there  were  Ambroise  and  Gervais,  bare,  and 
wrestling  on  a  patch  of  grass ;  there  were  Gregoire  and 
Nicolas  birdnesting ;  there  were  Claire  and  the  three  other 
girls,  Louise,  Madeleine,  and  Marguerite,  romping  about 


FRUITFULNESS  343 

the  farm,  quarrelling  with  the  fowls,  springing  upon  the 
horses'  backs.  But  what  particularly  touched  Marianne 
was  the  sketch  of  her  last-born,  little  Benjamin,  now  nine 
months  old,  whom  Charlotte  had  depicted  reclining  under  the 
oak  tree  in  the  same  little  carriage  as  her  own  son  Guil- 
laume,  who  was  virtually  of  the  same  age,  having  been  born 
but  eight  days  later. 

"  The  uncle  and  the  nephew,"  said  Mathieu  jestingly. 
"  All  the  same,  the  uncle  is  the  elder  by  a  week." 

As  Marianne  stood  there  smiling,  soft  tears  came  into 
her  eyes,  and  the  sketch  shook  in  her  happy  hands. 

u  The  dears  !  "  said  she  ;  "  my  son  and  grandson.  With 
those  dear  little  ones  I  am  once  again  a  mother  and  a  grand- 
mother. Ah,  yes !  those  two  are  the  supreme  consolation  ; 
they  have  helped  to  heal  the  wound  ;  it  is  they  who  have 
brought  us  back  hope  and  courage." 

This  was  true.  How  overwhelming  had  been  the 
mourning  and  sadness  of  the  early  days  when  Charlotte, 
fleeing  the  factory,  had  sought  refuge  at  the  farm  !  The 
tragedy  by  which  Blaise  had  been  carried  off  had  nearly 
killed  her.  Her  first  solace  was  to  see  that  her  daughter 
Berthe,  who  had  been  rather  sickly  in  Paris,  regained  bright 
rosy  cheeks  amid  the  open  air  of  Chantebled.  Moreover, 
she  had  settled  her  life :  she  would  spend  her  remaining 
years,  in  that  hospitable  house,  devoting  herself  to  her  two 
children,  and  happy  in  having  so  affectionate  a  grandmother 
and  grandfather  to  help  and  sustain  her.  She  had  always 
shown  herself  to  be  somewhat  apart  from  life,  possessed  of 
a  dreamy  nature,  only  asking  to  love  and  to  be  loved  in 
return. 

So  by  degrees  she  settled  down  once  more,  installed  be- 
side her  grandparents  in  the  old  pavilion,  which  Mathieu 
fitted  up  for  the  three  of  them.  And  wishing  to  occupy 
herself,  irrespective  of  her  income  from  the  factory,  she 
even  set  to  work  again  and  painted  miniatures,  which  a 
dealer  in  Paris  readily  purchased.  But  her  grief  was  mostly 
healed  by  her  little  Guillaume,  that  child  bequeathed  to  her 
by  her  dead  husband,  in  whom  he  resuscitated.  And  it  was 


344  FRUITFULNESS 

much  the  same  with  Marianne  since  the  birth  of  Benjamin. 
A  new  son  had  replaced  the  one  she  had  lost,  and  helped 
to  fill  the  void  in  her  heart.  The  two  women,  the  two 
mothers,  found  infinite  solace  in  nursing  those  babes. 
For  them  they  forgot  themselves  ;  they  reared  them  to- 
gether, watching  them  grow  side  by  side  ;  they  gave  them 
the  breast  at  the  same  hours,  and  it  was  their  desire  to  see 
them  both  become  very  strong,  very  handsome,  and  very 
good.  Although  one  mother  was  almost  twice  as  old  as 
the  other,  they  became,  as  it  were,  sisters.  The  same  nour- 
ishing milk  flowed  from  both  their  fruitful  bosoms.  And 
gleams  of  light  penetrated  their  mourning :  they  began  to 
laugh  when  they  saw  those  little  cherubs  laugh,  and  noth- 
ing could  have  been  gayer  than  the  sight  of  that  mother- 
in-law  and  that  daughter-in-law  side  by  side,  almost 
mingling,  having  but  one  cradle  between  them,  amid  an 
unceasing  florescence  of  maternity. 

"  Be  careful,"  Mathieu  suddenly  said  to  Charlotte ; 
"  hide  your  drawings,  here  are  Gervais  and  Claire  coming 
about  the  table." 

Gervais  at  nineteen  years  of  age  was  quite  a  colossus, 
the  tallest  and  the  strongest  of  the  family,  with  short,  curly 
black  hair,  large  bright  eyes,  and  a  full  broad-featured  face. 
He  had  remained  his  father's  favorite  son,  the  son  of  the 
fertile  earth,  the  one  in  whom  Mathieu  fostered  a  love  for 
the  estate,  a  passion  for  skilful  agriculture,  in  order  that 
later  on  the  young  man  might  continue  the  good  work 
which  had  been  begun.  Mathieu  already  disburdened  him- 
self on  Gervais  of  a  part  of  his  duties,  and  was  only  wait- 
ing to  see  him  married  to  give  him  the  control  of  the  whole 
farm.  And  he  often  thought  of  adjoining  to  him  Claire 
when  she  found  a  husband  in  some  worthy,  sturdy  fellow 
who  would  assume  part  of  the  labor.  Two  men  agreeing 
well  would  be  none  too  many  for  an  enterprise  which  was 
increasing  in  importance  every  day.  Since  Marianne  had 
again  been  nursing,  Claire  had  been  attending  to  her  work. 
Though  she  had  no  beauty,  she  was  of  vigorous  health  and 
quite  strong  for  her  seventeen  years.  She  busied  herself 


FRUITFULNESS  345 

more  particularly  with  cookery  and  household  affairs,  but 
she  also  kept  the  accounts,  being  shrewd-witted  and  very 
economically  inclined,  on  which  account  the  prodigals  of 
the  family  often  made  fun  of  her. 

u  And  so  it's  here  that  the  table  is  to  be  set,"  said  Ger- 
vais ;  "  I  shall  have  to  see  that  the  lawn  is  mowed  then." 

On  her  side  Claire  inquired  what  number  of  people  there 
would  be  at  table  and  how  she  had  better  place  them. 
Then,  Gervais  having  called  to  Frederic  to  bring  a  scythe, 
the  three  of  them  went  on  discussing  the  arrangements. 
After  Rose's  death,  Frederic,  her  betrothed,  had  continued 
working;  beside  Gervais,  becoming  his  most  active  and 

D  * 

intelligent  comrade  and  helper.  For  some  months,  too, 
Marianne  and  Mathieu  had  noticed  that  he  was  revolving 
around  Claire,  as  though,  since  he  had  lost  the  elder  girl, 
he  were  willing  to  content  himself  with  the  younger  one, 
who  was  far  less  beautiful  no  doubt,  but  withal  a  good  and 
sturdy  housewife.  This  had  at  first  saddened  the  parents. 
Was  it  possible  to  forget  their  dear  daughter  ?  Then, 
however,  they  felt  moved,  for  the  thought  came  to  them 
that  the  family  ties  would  be  drawn  yet  closer,  that  the 
young  fellow's  heart  would  not  roam  in  search  of  love  else- 
where, but  would  remain  with  them.  So  closing  their 
eyes  to  what  went  on,  they  smiled,  for  in  Frederic,  when 
Claire  should  be  old  enough  to  marry,  Gervais  would  find 
the  brother-in-law  and  partner  that  he  needed. 

The  question  of  the  table  had  just  been  settled  when  a 
sudden  invasion  burst  through  the  tall  grass  around  the  oak 
tree;  skirts  flew  about,  and  loose  hair  waved  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Louise,  "  there  are  no  roses." 
"  No,"  repeated  Madeleine,  "  not  a  single  white  rose." 
"  And,"  added  Marguerite,  "  we  have  inspected   all  the 
bushes.     There  are  no  white  roses,  only  red  ones." 

Thirteen,  eleven,  and  nine,  such  were  their  respective 
ages.  Louise,  plump  and  gay,  already  looked  a  little 
woman  ;  Madeleine,  slim  and  pretty,  spent  hours  at  her 
piano,  her  eyes  full  of  dreaminess ;  Marguerite,  whose  nose 


346  FRUITFULNESS 

was  rather  too  large  and  whose  lips  were  thick,  had  beau- 
tiful golden  hair.  She  would  pick  up  little  birds  at  winter 
time  and  warm  them  with  her  hands.  And  the  three  of 
them,  after  scouring  the  back  garden,  where  flowers  min- 
gled with  vegetables,  had  now  rushed  up  in  despair  at  their 
vain  search.  No  white  roses  for  a  wedding !  That  was 
the  end  of  everything !  What  could  they  offer  to  the 
bride  ?  And  what  could  they  set  upon  the  table  ? 

Behind  the  three  girls,  however,  appeared  Gregoire,  with 
jeering  mien,  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  At  fifteen  he 
was  very  malicious,  the  most  turbulent,  worrying  member 
of  the  family,  a  lad  inclined  to  the  most  diabolical  devices. 
His  pointed  nose  and  his  thin  lips  denoted  also  his  adven- 
turous spirit,  his  will  power,  and  his  skill  in  effecting  his 
object.  And,  apparently  much  amused  by  his  sisters'  dis- 
appointment, he  forgot  himself  and  exclaimed,  by  way  of 
teasing  them :  "  Why,  I  know  where  there  are  some  white 
roses,  and  fine  ones,  too." 

"  Where  is  that  ?  "  asked  Mathieu. 

"  Why,  at  the  mill,  near  the  wheel,  in  the  little  enclosure. 
There  are  three  big  bushes  which  are  quite  white,  with 
roses  as  big  as  cabbages." 

Then  he  flushed  and  became  confused,  for  his  father  was 
eyeing  him  severely. 

"  What !  do  you  still  prowl  round  the  mill  ? "  said  Mathieu. 
"  I  had  forbidden  you  to  do  so.  As  you  know  that  there 
are  white  roses  in  the  enclosure  you  must  have  gone  in, 
eh  ? " 

"  No ;  I  looked  over  the  wall." 

"  You  climbed  up  the  wall,  that's  the  finishing  touch  ! 
So  you  want  to  land  me  in  trouble  with  those  Lepailleurs, 
who  are  decidedly  very  foolish  and  very  malicious  people. 
There  is  really  a  devil  in  you,  my  boy." 

That  which  Gregoire  left  unsaid  was  that  he  repaired  to 
the  enclosure  in  order  that  he  might  there  join  Therese, 
the  miller's  fair-haired  daughter  with  the  droll,  laughing 
face,  who  was  also  a  terribly  adventurous  damsel  for  her 
thirteen  years.  True,  their  meetings  were  but  childish 


FRUITFULNESS  347 

play,  but  at  the  end  of  the  enclosure,  under  the  apple  trees, 
there  was  a  delightful  nook  where  one  could  laugh  and  chat 
and  amuse  oneself  at  one's  ease. 

"  Well,  just  listen  to  me,"  Mathieu  resumed.  "  I  won't 
have  you  going  to  play  with  Therese  again.  She  is  a  pretty 
little  girl,  no  doubt.  But  that  house  is  not  a  place  for  you 
to  go  to.  It  seems  that  they  fight  one  another  there  now." 

This  was  a  fact.  When  that  young  scamp  Antonin  had 
recovered  his  health,  he  had  been  tormented  by  a  longing 
to  return  to  Paris,  and  had  done  all  he  could  with  that  object, 
in  view  of  resuming  a  life  of  idleness  and  dissipation. 
Lepailleur,  greatly  irritated  at  having  been  duped  by  his 
son,  had  at  first  violently  opposed  his  plans.  But  what 
could  he  do  in  the  country  with  that  idle  fellow,  whom  he 
himself  had  taught  to  hate  the  earth  and  to  sneer  at  the  old 
rotting  mill.  Besides,  he  now  had  his  wife  against  him. 
She  was  ever  admiring  her  son's  learning,  and  so  stubborn 
was  her  faith  in  him  that  she  was  convinced  that  he  would 
this  time  secure  a  good  position  in  the  capital.  Thus  the 
father  had  been  obliged  to  give  way,  and  Antonin  was  now 
finally  wrecking  his  life  while  filling  some  petty  employment 
at  a  merchant's  in  the  Rue  du  Mail.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  quarrelling  increased  in  the  home,  particularly 
whenever  Lepailleur  suspected  his  wife  of  robbing  him  in 
order  to  send  money  to  that  big  lazybones,  their  son.  From 
the  bridge  over  the  Yeuse  on  certain  days  one  could  hear 
oaths  and  blows  flying  about.  And  here  again  was  family 
life  destroyed,  strength  wasted,  and  happiness  spoilt. 

Carried  off  by  perfect  anger,  Mathieu  continued :  "  To 
think  of  it;  people  who  had  everything  needful  to  be  happy  ! 
How  can  one  be  so  stupid  ?  How  can  one  seek  wretched- 
ness for  oneself  with  such  obstinacy  ?  As  for  that  idea  of 
theirs  of  an  only  son,  and  their  vanity  in  wanting  to  make 
a  gentleman  of  him,  ah  !  well,  they  have  succeeded  finely  ! 
They  must  be  extremely  pleased  to-day  !  It  is  just  like 
Lepailleur's  hatred  of  the  earth,  his  old-fashioned  system 
of  cultivation,  his  obstinacy  in  leaving  his  bit  of  moorland 
barren  and  refusing  to  sell  it  to  me,  no  doubt  by  way  of 


348  FRUITFULNESS 

protesting  against  our  success  !  Can  you  imagine  anything 
so  stupid  ?  And  it's  just  like  his  mill ;  all  folly  and  idleness 
he  stands  still,  looking  at  it  fall  into  ruins.  He  at  least  had 
a  reason  for  that  in  former  times ;  he  used  to  say  that  as 
the  region  had  almost  renounced  corn-growing,  the  peasants 
did  not  bring  him  enough  grain  to  set  his  mill-stones  work- 
ing. But  nowadays  when,  thanks  to  us,  corn  overflows  on 
all  sides,  surely  he  ought  to  have  pulled  down  his  old  wheel 
and  have  replaced  it  by  a  good  engine.  Ah  !  if  I  were  in 
his  place  I  would  already  have  a  new  and  bigger  mill  there, 
making  all  use  of  the  water  of  the  Yeuse,  and  connecting 
it  with  Janville  railway  station  by  a  line  of  rails,  which 
would  not  cost  so  much  to  lay  down." 

Gregoire  stood  listening,  well  pleased  that  the  storm 
should  fall  on  another  than  himself.  And  Marianne,  seeing 
that  her  three  daughters  were  still  greatly  grieved  at  having 
no  white  roses,  consoled  them,  saying  :  "  Well,  for  the  table 
to-morrow  morning  you  must  gather  those  which  are  the 
lightest  in  color  —  the  pale  pink  ones ;  they  will  do  very 
well." 

Thereupon  Mathieu,  calming  down,  made  the  children 
laugh,  by  adding  gayly  :  "  Gather  the  red  ones  too,  the 
reddest  you  find.  They  will  symbolize  the  blood  of  life !  " 

Marianne  and  Charlotte  were  still  lingering  there  talking 
of  all  the  preparations,  when  other  little  feet  came  tripping 
through  the  grass.  Nicolas,  quite  proud  of  his  seven  years, 
was  leading  his  niece  Berthe,  a  big  girl  of  six.  They  agreed 
very  well  together.  That  day  they  had  remained  indoors 
playing  at  "  fathers  and  mothers  "  near  the  cradle  occupied 
by  Benjamin  and  Guillaume,  whom  they  called  their  babies. 
But  all  at  once  the  infants  had  awoke,  clamoring  for  nour- 
ishment. And  Nicolas  and  Berthe,  quite  alarmed,  had 
thereupon  run  off  to  fetch  the  two  mothers. 

"  Mamma !  "  called  Nicolas,  "  Benjamin's  asking  for 
you.  He's  thirsty." 

"  Mamma,  mamma  !  "  repeated  Berthe,  "  Guillaume's 
thirsty.  Come  quick,  he's  in  a  hurry." 

Marianne  and   Charlotte  laughed.     True   enough,   the 


FRUITFULNESS  349 

morrow's  wedding  had  made  them  forget  their  pets ;  and 
so  they  hastily  returned  to  the  house. 

On  the  following  day  those  happy  nuptials  were  cele- 
brated in  affectionate  intimacy.  There  were  but  one-and- 
twenty  at  table  under  the  oak  tree  in  the  middle  of  the 
lawn,  which,  girt  with  elms  and  hornbeams,  seemed  like 
a  hall  of  verdure.  The  whole  family  was  present :  first 
those  of  the  farm,  then  Denis  the  bridegroom,  next  Am- 
broise  and  his  wife  Andree,  who  had  brought  their  little 
Leonce  with  them.  And  apart  from  the  family  proper, 
there  were  only  the  few  invited  relatives,  Beauchene  and 
Constance,  Seguin  and  Valentine,  with,  of  course,  Madame 
Desvignes,  the  bride's  mother.  There  were  twenty-one  at 
table,  as  has  been  said ;  but  besides  those  one-and-twenty 
there  were  three  very  little  ones  present :  Leonce,  who  at  fifteen 
months  had  just  been  weaned,  and  Benjamin  and  Guillaume, 
who  still  took  the  breast.  Their  little  carriages  had  been 
drawn  up  near,  so  that  they  also  belonged  to  the  party, 
which  was  thus  a  round  two  dozen.  And  the  table,  flowery 
with  roses,  sent  forth  a  delightful  perfume  under  the  rain 
of  summer  sunbeams  which  flecked  it  with  gold  athwart 
the  cool  shady  foliage.  From  one  horizon  to  the  other 
stretched  the  wondrous  tent  of  azure  of  the  triumphant 
July  sky.  And  Marthe's  white  bridal  gown,  and  the  bright 
dresses  of  the  girls,  big  and  little ;  all  those  gay  frocks, 
and  all  that  fine  youthful  health,  seemed  like  the  very 
florescence  of  that  green  nook  of  happiness.  They 
lunched  joyously,  and  ended  by  clinking  glasses  in  coun- 
try fashion,  while  wishing  all  sorts  of  prosperity  to  the 
bridal  pair  and  to  everybody  present. 

Then,  while  the  servants  were  removing  the  cloth, 
Seguin,  who  affected  an  interest  in  horse-breeding  and 
cattle-raising,  wished  Mathieu  to  show  him  his  stables. 
He  had  talked  nothing  but  horseflesh  during  the  meal,  and 
was  particularly  desirous  of  seeing  some  big  farm-horses, 
whose  great  strength  had  been  praised  by  his  host.  He 
persuaded  Beauchene  to  join  him  in  the  inspection,  and  the 
three  men  were  starting,  when  Constance  and  Valentine, 


350  FRUITFULNESS 

somewhat  inquisitive  with  respect  to  that  farm,  the  great 
growth  of  which  still  filled  them  with  stupefaction,  decided 
to  follow,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  family  installed  under 
the  trees,  amid  the  smiling  peacefulness  of  that  fine  after- 
noon. 

The  cow-houses  and  stables  were  on  the  right  hand. 
But  in  order  to  reach  them  one  had  to  cross  the  great  yard, 
whence  the  entire  estate  could  be  seen.  And  here  there 
was  a  halt,  a  sudden  stopping  inspired  by  admiration,  so 
grandly  did  the  work  accomplished  show  forth  under  the 
sun.  They  had  known  that  land  dry  and  sterile,  covered 
with  mere  scrub  ;  they  beheld  it  now  one  sea  of  waving 
corn,  of  crops  whose  growth  increased  at  each  successive 
season.  Up  yonder,  on  the  old  marshy  plateau,  the  fertility 
was  such,  thanks  to  the  humus  amassed  during  long  cen- 
turies, that  Mathieu  did  not  even  manure  the  ground  as  yet. 
Then,  to  right  and  to  left,  the  former  sandy  slopes  spread 
out  all  greenery,  fertilized  by  the  springs  which  ever  brought 
them  increase  of  fruitfulness.  And  the  very  woods  afar 
off,  skilfully  arranged,  aired  by  broad  clearings,  seemed  to 
possess  more  sap,  as  if  all  the  surrounding  growth  of  life 
had  instilled  additional  vigor  into  them.  With  this  vigor, 
this  power,  indeed,  the  whole  domain  was  instinct ;  it  was 
creation,  man's  labor  fertilizing  sterile  soil,  and  drawing 
from  it  a  wealth  of  nourishment  for  expanding  humanity, 
the  conqueror  of  the  world. 

There  was  a  long  spell  of  silence.  At  last  Seguin,  in 
his  dry  shrill  voice,  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness  born  of  his 
own  ruin,  remarked  :  "  You  have  done  a  good  stroke  of 
business.  I  should  never  have  believed  it  possible." 

Then  they  walked  on  again.  But  in  the  sheds,  the  cow- 
houses, the  sheep-cotes,  and  all  round,  the  sensation  of 
strength  and  power  yet  increased.  Creation  was  there 
continuing ;  the  cattle,  the  sheep,  the  fowls,  the  rabbits, 
all  that  dwelt  and  swarmed  there  were  incessantly  increas- 
ing and  multiplying.  Each  year  the  ark  became  too  small, 
and  fresh  pens  and  fresh  buildings  were  required.  Life 
increased  life ;  on  all  sides  there  were  fresh  broods,  fresh 


FRUITFULNESS  351 

flocks,  fresh  herds;  all  the  conquering  wealth  of  inexhaustible 
fruitfulness. 

When  they  reached  the  stables  Seguin  greatly  admired 
the  big  draught  horses,  and  praised  them  with  the  expres- 
sions of  a  connoisseur.  Then  he  returned  to  the  subject 
of  breeding,  and  cited  some  extraordinary  results  that  one 
of  his  friends  obtained  by  certain  crosses.  So  far  as  the 
animal  kingdom  was  concerned  his  ideas  were  sound 
enough,  but  when  he  came  to  the  consideration  of  human 
kind  he  was  as  erratic  as  ever.  As  they  walked  back  from 
the  stables  he  began  to  descant  on  the  population  question, 
denouncing  the  century,  and  repeating  all  his  old  theories. 
Perhaps  it  was  jealous  rancor  that  impelled  him  to  protest 
against  the  victory  of  life  which  the  whole  farm  around 
him  proclaimed  so  loudly.  Depopulation  !  why,  it  did  not 
extend  fast  enough.  Paris,  which  wished  to  die,  so  people 
said,  was  really  taking  its  time  about  it.  All  the  same,  he 
noticed  some  good  symptoms,  for  bankruptcy  was  increas- 
ing on  all  sides  —  in  science,  politics,  literature,  and  even 
art.  Liberty  was  already  dead.  Democracy,  by  exasperat- 
ing ambitious  instincts  and  setting  classes  in  conflict  for 
power,  was  rapidly  leading  to  a  social  collapse.  Only  the 
poor  still  had  large  families;  the  elite,  the  people  of  wealth  and 
intelligence,  had  fewer  and  fewer  children,  so  that,  before 
final  annihilation  came,  there  might  still  be  a  last  period  of 
acceptable  civilization,  in  which  there  would  remain  only 
a  few  men  and  women  of  supreme  refinement,  content  with 
perfumes  for  sustenance  and  mere  breath  for  enjoyment. 
He,  however,  was  disgusted,  for  he  now  felt  certain  that  he 
would  not  see  that  period  since  it  was  so  slow  in  coming. 

"  If  only  Christianity  would  return  to  the  primitive 
faith,"  he  continued,  "  and  condemn  woman  as  an  impure, 
diabolical,  and  harmful  creature,  we  might  go  and  lead  holy 
lives  in  the  desert,  and  in  that  way  bring  the  world  to  an 
end  much  sooner.  But  the  political  Catholicism  of  nowa- 
days, anxious  to  keep  alive  itself,  allows  and  regulates  mar- 
riage, with  the  view  of  maintaining  things  as  they  are. 
Oh  !  you  will  say,  of  course,  that  I  myself  married  and 


352  FRUITFULNESS 

that  I  have  children,  which  is  true ;  but  I  am  pleased  to 
think  that  they  will  redeem  my  fault.  Gaston  says  that  a 
soldier's  only  wife  ought  to  be  his  sword,  and  so  he  intends 
to  remain  single ;  and  as  Lucie,  on  her  side,  has  taken  the 
veil  at  the  Ursulines,  I  feel  quite  at  ease.  My  race  is,  so 
to  say,  already  extinct,  and  that  delights  me." 

Mathieu  listened  with  a  smile.  He  was  acquainted  with 
that  more  or  less  literary  form  of  pessimism.  In  former 
days  all  such  views,  as,  for  instance,  the  struggle  of  civiliza- 
tion against  the  birth-rate,  and  the  relative  childlessness  of 
the  most  intelligent  and  able  members  of  the  community, 
had  disturbed  him.  But  since  he  had  fought  the  cause  of 
love  he  had  found  another  faith.  Thus  he  contented  him- 
self with  saying  rather  maliciously  :  "  But  you  forget  your 
daughter  Andree  and  her  little  boy  Leonce." 

"  Oh  !  Andree  !  "  replied  Seguin,  waving  his  hand  as  if 
she  did  not  belong  to  him. 

Valentine,  however,  had  stopped  short,  gazing  at  him 
fixedly.  Since  their  household  had  been  wrecked  and  they 
had  been  leading  lives  apart,  she  no  longer  tolerated  his 
sudden  attacks  of  insane  brutality  and  jealousy.  By  reason 
also  of  the  squandering  of  their  fortune  she  had  a  hold  on 
him,  for  he  feared  that  she  might  ask  for  certain  accounts 
to  be  rendered  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  granted,  "  there  is  Andree ;  but  then  girls 
don't  count." 

They  were  walking  on  again  when  Beauchene,  who  had 
hitherto  contented  himself  with  puffing  and  chewing  his 
cigar,  for  reserve  was  imposed  upon  him  by  the  frightful 
drama  of  his  own  family  life,  was  unable  to  remain  silent 
any  longer.  Forgetful,  relapsing  into  the  extraordinary 
unconsciousness  which  always  set  him  erect,  like  a  victori- 
ous superior  man,  he  spoke  out  loudly  and  boldly  : 

"  I  don't  belong  to  Seguin's  school,  but,  all  the  same,  he 
says  some  true  things.  That  population  question  greatly 
interests  me  even  now,  and  I  can  flatter  myself  that  I 
know  it  fully.  Well,  it  is  evident  that  Malthus  was  right. 
It  is  not  allowable  for  people  to  have  families  without 


FRUITFULNESS  353 

knowing  how  they  will  be  able  to  nourish  them.  If  the 
poor  die  of  starvation  it  is  their  fault,  and  not  ours." 

Then  he  reverted  to  his  usual  lecture  on  the  subject. 
The  governing  classes  alone  were  reasonable  in  keeping  to 
small  families.  A  country  could  only  produce  a  certain 
supply  of  food,  and  was  therefore  restricted  to  a  certain 
population.  People  talked  of  the  faulty  division  of  wealth  ; 
but  it  was  madness  to  dream  of  an  Utopia,  where  there 
would  be  no  more  masters  but  only  so  many  brothers, 
equal  workers  and  sharers,  who  would  apportion  happiness 
among  themselves  like  a  birthday-cake.  All  the  evil  then 
came  from  the  lack  of  foresight  among  the  poor,  though 
with  brutal  frankness  he  admitted  that  employers  readily 
availed  themselves  of  the  circumstance  that  there  was  a 
surplus  of  children  to  hire  labor  at  reduced  rates. 

Then,  losing  all  recollection  of  the  past,  infatuated,  in- 
toxicated with  his  own  ideas,  he  went  on  talking  of  himself. 
"  People  pretend  that  we  are  not  patriots  because  we  don't 
leave  troops  of  children  behind  us.  But  that  is  simply 
ridiculous  ;  each  serves  the  country  in  his  own  way.  If  the 
poor  folks  give  it  soldiers,  we  give  it  our  capital  —  all  the 
proceeds  of  our  commerce  and  industry.  A  fine  lot  of  good 
would  it  do  the  country  if  we  were  to  ruin  ourselves  with 
big  families,  which  would  hamper  us,  prevent  us  from  get- 
ting rich,  and  afterwards  destroy  whatever  we  create  by  sub- 
dividing it.  With  our  laws  and  customs  there  can  be  no 
substantial  fortune  unless  a  family  is  limited  to  one  son. 
And  yes,  that  is  necessary ;  but  one  son  —  an  only  son  — 
that  is  the  only  wise  course ;  therein  lies  the  only  possible 
happiness." 

It  became  so  painful  to  hear  him,  in  his  position,  speak- 
ing in  that  fashion,  that  the  others  remained  silent,  full  of 
embarrassment.  And  he,  thinking  that  he  was  convincing 
them,  went  on  triumphantly:  "Thus,  I  myself " 

But  at  this  moment  Constance  interrupted  him.  She 
had  hitherto  walked  on  with  bowed  head  amid  that 
flow  of  chatter  which  brought  her  so  much  torture  and 
shame,  an  aggravation,  as  it  were,  of  her  defeat.  But 


354  FRUITFULNESS 

now  she  raised  her  face,  down  which  two  big  tears  were 
trickling. 

"  Alexandre  !  "  she  said. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  ?  " 

He  did  not  yet  understand.  But  on  seeing  her  tears,  he 
ended  by  feeling  disturbed,  in  spite  of  all  his  fine  assurance. 
He  looked  at  the  others,  and  wishing  to  have  the  last  word, 
he  added  :  "  Ah,  yes  !  our  poor  child.  But  particular  cases 
have  nothing  to  do  with  general  theories ;  ideas  are  still 
ideas." 

Silence  fell  between  them.  They  were  now  near  the 
lawn  where  the  family  had  remained.  And  for  the  last 
moment  Mathieu  had  been  thinking  of  Morange,  whom  he 
had  also  invited  to  the  wedding,  but  who  had  excused  him- 
self from  attending,  as  if  he  were  terrified  at  the  idea  of 
gazing  on  the  joy  of  others,  and  dreaded,  too,  lest  some 
sacrilegious  attempt  should  be  made  in  his  absence  on  the 
mysterious  sanctuary  where  he  worshipped.  Would  he, 
Morange  —  so  Mathieu  wondered  —  have  clung  like  Beau- 
chene  to  his  former  ideas  ?  Would  he  still  have  defended 
the  theory  of  the  only  child ;  that  hateful,  calculating  the- 
ory which  had  cost  him  both  his  wife  and  his  daughter  ? 
Mathieu  could  picture  him  flitting  past,  pale  and  distracted, 
with  the  step  of  a  maniac  hastening  to  some  mysterious  end, 
in  which  insanity  would  doubtless  have  its  place.  But  the 
lugubrious  vision  vanished,  and  then  again  before  Mathieu's 
eyes  the  lawn  spread  out  under  the  joyous  sun,  offering 
between  its  belt  of  foliage  such  a  picture  of  happy  health 
and  triumphant  beauty,  that  he  felt  impelled  to  break  the 
mournful  silence  and  exclaim  : 

"  Look  there  !  look  there  !  Isn't  that  gay  ;  isn't  that  a 
delightful  scene  —  all  those  dear  women  and  dear  children 
in  that  setting  of  verdure  ?  It  ought  to  be  painted  to  show 
people  how  healthy  and  beautiful  life  is  !  " 

Time  had  not  been  lost  on  the  lawn  since  the  Beauchenes 
and  Seguins  had  gone  off  to  visit  the  stables.  First  of  all 
there  had  been  a  distribution  of  the  menu  cards,  which 
Charlotte  had  adorned  with  such  delicate  water-color 


FRUITFULNESS  355 

sketches.  This  surprise  of  hers  had  enraptured  them  all 
at  lunch,  and  they  still  laughed  at  the  sight  of  those  pretty 
children's  heads.  Then,  while  the  servants  cleared  the 
table,  Gregoire  achieved  a  great  success  by  offering  the 
bride  a  bouquet  of  splendid  white  roses,  which  he  drew  out 
of  a  bush  where  he  had  hitherto  kept  it  hidden.  He  had 
doubtless  been  waiting  for  some  absence  of  his  father's. 
They  were  the  roses  of  the  mill ;  with  Therese's  assistance 
he  must  have  pillaged  the  bushes  in  the  enclosure.  Mari- 
anne, recognizing  how  serious  was  the  transgression,  wished 
to  scold  him.  But  what  superb  white  roses  they  were,  as 
big  as  cabbages,  as  he  himself  had  said  !  And  he  was  en- 
titled to  triumph  over  them,  for  they  were  the  only  white 
roses  there,  and  had  been  secured  by  himself,  like  the  wan- 
dering urchin  he  was  with  a  spice  of  knight-errantry  in  his 
composition,  quite  ready  to  jump  over  walls  and  cajole 
damsels  in  order  to  deck  a  bride  with  snowy  blooms. 

"  Oh  !  papa  won't  say  anything,"  he  declared,  with  no 
little  self-assurance  ;  "  they  are  far  too  beautiful." 

This  made  the  others  laugh ;  but  fresh  emotion  ensued, 
for  Benjamin  and  Guillaume  awoke  and  screamed  their 
hunger  aloud.  It  was  gayly  remarked,  however,  that  they 
were  quite  entitled  to  their  turn  of  feasting.  And  as  it  was 
simply  a  family  gathering  there  was  no  embarrassment  on 
the  part  of  the  mothers.  Marianne  took  Benjamin  on  her 
knees  in  the  shade  of  the  oak  tree,  and  Charlotte  placed 
herself  with  Guillaume  on  her  right  hand  ;  while,  on  her 
left,  Andree  seated  herself  with  little  Leonce,  who  had  been 
weaned  a  week  previously,  but  was  still  very  fond  of 
caresses. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  Beauchenes  and  the 
Seguins  reappeared  with  Mathieu,  and  stopped  short,  struck 
by  the  charm  of  the  spectacle  before  them.  Between  a  frame- 
work of  tall  trees,  under  the  patriarchal  oak,  on  the  thick 
grass  of  the  lawn  the  whole  vigorous  family  was  gathered 
in  a  group,  instinct  with  gayety,  beauty,  and  strength. 
Gervais  and  Claire,  ever  active,  were,  with  Frederic,  hurry- 
ing on  the  servants,  who  made  no  end  of  serving  the  coffee 


356  FRUITFULNESS 

on  the  table  which  had  just  been  cleared.  For  this  table 
the  three  younger  girls,  half  buried  in  a  heap  of  flowers, 
tea  and  blush  and  crimson  roses,  were  now,  with  the  help 
of  knight  Gregoire,  devising  new  decorations.  Then,  a  few 
paces  away,  the  bridal  pair,  Denis  and  Marthe,  were  con- 
versing in  undertones  ;  while  the  bride's  mother,  Madame 
Desvignes,  sat  listening  to  them  with  a  discreet  and  infi- 
nitely gentle  smile  upon  her  lips.  And  it  was  in  the  midst 
of  all  this  that  Marianne,  radiant,  white  of  skin,  still  fresh, 
ever  beautiful,  with  serene  strength,  was  giving  the  breast 
to  her  twelfth  child,  her  Benjamin,  and  smiling  at  him  as 
he  sucked  away ;  while  surrendering  her  other  knee  to 
little  Nicolas,  who  was  jealous  of  his  younger  brother. 
And  her  two  daughters-in-law  seemed  like  a  continuation 
of  herself.  There  was  Andree  on  the  left  with  Ambroise, 
who  had  stepped  up  to  tease  his  little  Leonce ;  and  Char- 
lotte on  the  right  with  her  two  children,  Guillaume,  who 
hung  on  her  breast,  and  Berthe,  who  had  sought  a  place 
among  her  skirts.  And  here,  faith  in  life  had  yielded 
prosperity,  ever-increasing,  overflowing  wealth,  all  the 
sovereign  florescence  of  happy  fruitfulness. 

Seguin,  addressing  himself  to  Marianne,  asked  her  jest- 
ingly :  "And  so  that  little  gentleman  is  the  fourteenth  you 
have  nursed  ?  " 

She  likewise  laughed.  "  No  ;  I  mustn't  tell  fibs  !  I 
have  nursed  twelve,  including  this  one ;  that  is  the  exact 
number." 

Beauchene,  who  had  recovered  his  self-possession,  could 
not  refrain  from  intervening  once  more  :  "  A  full  dozen, 
eh  !  It  is  madness  !  " 

"  I  share  your  opinion,"  said  Mathieu,  laughing  in  his 
turn.  "At  all  events,  if  it  is  not  madness  it  is  extrava- 
gance, as  we  admit,  my  wife  and  I,  when  we  are  alone. 
And  we  certainly  don't  think  that  all  people  ought  to  have 
such  large  families  as  ours.  But,  given  the  situation  in 
France  nowadays,  with  our  population  dwindling  and  that 
of  nearly  every  other  country  increasing,  it  is  hardly  pos- 
sible to  complain  of  even  the  largest  family.  Thus,  even 


FRUITFULNESS  357 

if  our  example  be  exaggerated,  it  remains  an  example,  I 
think,  for  others  to  think  over." 

Marianne  listened,  still  smiling,  but  with  tears  standing 
in  her  eyes.  A  feeling  of  gentle  sadness  was  penetrating 
her;  her  heart-wound  had  reopened  even  amid  all  her  joy 
at  seeing  her  children  assembled  around  her.  "  Yes,"  said 
she  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  there  have  been  twelve,  but  I 
have  only  ten  left.  Two  are  already  sleeping  yonder, 
waiting  for  us  underground." 

There  was  no  sign  of  dread,  however,  in  that  evocation 
of  the  peaceful  little  cemetery  of  Janville  and  the  family 
grave  in  which  all  the  children  hoped  some  day  to  be  laid, 
one  after  the  other,  side  by  side.  Rather  did  that  evocation, 
coming  amid  that  gay  wedding  assembly,  seem  like  a 
promise  of  future  blessed  peace.  The  memory  of  the  dear 
departed  ones  remained  alive,  and  lent  to  one  and  all  a 
kind  of  loving  gravity  even  amid  their  mirth.  Was  it  not 
impossible  to  accept  life  without  accepting  death.  Each 
came  here  to  perform  his  task,  and  then,  his  work  ended, 
went  to  join  his  elders  in  that  slumber  of  eternity  where 
the  great  fraternity  of  humankind  was  fulfilled. 

But  in  presence  of  those  jesters,  Beauchene  and  Seguin, 
quite  a  flood  of  words  rose  to  Mathieu's  lips.  He  would 
have  liked  to  answer  them  ;  he  would  have  liked  to  triumph 
over  the  mendacious  theories  which  they  still  dared  to 
assert  even  in  their  hour  of  defeat.  To  fear  that  the  earth 
might  become  over-populated,  that  excess  of  life  might 
produce  famine,  was  this  not  idiotic  ?  Others  only  had  to 
do  as  he  had  done  :  create  the  necessary  subsistence  each 
time  that  a  child  was  born  to  them.  And  he  would  have 
pointed  to  Chantebled,  his  work,  and  to  all  the  corn  grow- 
ing up  under  the  sun,  even  as  his  children  grew.  They 
could  not  be  charged  with  having  come  to  consume  the 
share  of  others,  since  each  was  born  with  his  bread  before 
him.  And  millions  of  new  beings  might  follow,  for  the 
earth  was  vast :  more  than  two-thirds  of  it  still  remained 
to  be  placed  under  cultivation,  and  therein  lay  endless 
fertility  for  unlimited  humanity.  Besides,  had  not  every 


358  FRUITFULNESS 

civilization,  every  progress,  been  due  to  the  impulse  of 
numbers  ?  The  improvidence  of  the  poor  had  alone  urged 
revolutionary  multitudes  to  the  conquest  of  truth,  justice, 
and  happiness.  And  with  each  succeeding  day  the  human 
torrent  would  require  more  kindliness,  more  equity,  the 
logical  division  of  wealth  by  just  laws  regulating  universal 
labor.  If  it  were  true,  too,  that  civilization  was  a  check  to 
excessive  natality,  this  phenomenon  itself  might  make  one 
hope  in  final  equilibrium  in  the  far-ofF  ages,  when  the  earth 
should  be  entirely  populated  and  wise  enough  to  live  in  a 
sort  of  divine  irnmobility.  But  all  this  was  pure  specula- 
lation  beside  the  needs  of  the  hour,  the  nations  which  must 
be  built  up  afresh  and  incessantly  enlarged,  pending  the 
eventual  definitive  federation  of  mankind.  And  it  was 
really  an  example,  a  brave  and  a  necessary  one,  that  Mari- 
anne and  he  were  giving,  in  order  that  manners  and  cus- 
toms, and  the  idea  of  morality  and  the  idea  of  beauty  might 
be  changed. 

Full  of  these  thoughts  Mathieu  was  already  opening  his 
mouth  to  speak.  But  all  at  once  he  felt  how  futile  dis- 
cussion would  be  in  presence  of  that  admirable  scene ; 
that  mother  surrounded  by  such  a  florescence  of  vigorous 
children  ;  that  mother  nursing  yet  another  child,  under  the 
big  oak  which  she  had  planted.  She  was  bravely  accom- 
plishing her  task  —  that  of  perpetuating  the  world.  And 
hers  was  the  sovereign  beauty. 

Mathieu  could  think  of  only  one  thing  that  would 
express  everything,  and  that  was  to  kiss  her  with  all  his 
heart  before  the  whole  assembly. 

"  There,  dear  wife  !  You  are  the  most  beautiful  and 
the  best !  May  all  the  others  do  as  you  have  done." 

Then,  when  Marianne  had  gloriously  returned  his  kiss, 
there  arose  an  acclamation,  a  tempest  of  merry  laughter. 
They  were  both  of  heroic  mould ;  it  was  with  a  great  dash 
of  heroism  that  they  had  steered  their  bark  onward,  thanks 
to  their  full  faith  in  life,  their  will  of  action,  and  the  force 
of  their  love.  And  Constance  was  at  last  conscious  of  it : 
she  could  realize  the  conquering  power  of  fruitfulness ;  she 


FRUITFULNESS  359 

could  already  see  the  Froments  masters  of  the  factory 
through  their  son  Denis ;  masters  of  Seguin's  mansion 
through  their  son  Ambroise;  masters,  too,  of  all  the 
countryside  through  their  other  children.  Number  spelt 
victory.  And  shrinking,  consumed  with  a  love  which  she 
could  never  more  satisfy,  full  of  the  bitterness  of  her 
defeat,  though  she  yet  hoped  for  some  abominable  revenge 
of  destiny,  she  —  who  never  wept!  —  turned  aside  to  hide 
the  big  hot  tears  which  now  burnt  her  withered  cheeks. 

Meantime  Benjamin  and  Guillaume  were  enjoying  them- 
selves like  greedy  little  men  whom  nothing  could  disturb. 
Had  there  been  less  laughter  one  might  have  heard  the 
trickling  of  their  mothers'  milk :  that  little  stream  flowing 
forth  amid  the  torrent  of  sap  which  upraised  the  earth 
and  made  the  big  trees  quiver  in  the  powerful  July  blaze. 
On  every  side  fruitful  life  was  conveying  germs,  creating 
and  nourishing.  And  for  its  eternal  work  an  eternal  river 
of  milk  flowed  through  the  world. 


XIX 

ONE  Sunday  morning  Norine  and  Cecile  —  who,  though 
it  was  rightly  a  day  of  rest,  were,  nevertheless,  working  on 
either  side  of  their  little  table,  pressed  as  they  were  to 
deliver  boxes  for  the  approaching  New  Year  season  — 
received  a  visit  which  left  them  pale  with  stupor  and 
fright. 

Their  unknown  hidden  life  had  hitherto  followed  a 
peaceful  course,  the  only  battle  being  to  make  both  ends 
meet  every  week,  and  to  put  by  the  rent  money  for  pay- 
ment every  quarter.  During  the  eight  years  that  the  sisters 
had  been  living  together  in  the  Rue  de  la  Federation  near 
the  Champ  de  Mars,  occupying  the  same  big  room  with 
cheerful  windows,  a  room  whose  coquettish  cleanliness 
made  them  feel  quite  proud,  Norine's  child  had  grown  up 
steadily  between  his  two  affectionate  mothers.  For  he  had 
ended  by  confounding  them  together :  there  was  Mamma 
Norine  and  there  was  Mamma  Cecile;  and  he  did  not 
exactly  know  whether  one  of  the  two  was  more  his  mother 
than  the  other.  It  was  for  him  alone  that  they  both  lived 
and  toiled,  the  one  still  a  fine,  good-looking  woman  at 
forty  years  of  age,  the  other  yet  girlish  at  thirty. 

Now,  at  about  ten  o'clock  that  Sunday,  there  came  in 
succession  two  loud  knocks  at  the  door.  When  the  latter 
was  opened  a  short,  thick-set  fellow,  about  eighteen,  stepped 
in.  He  was  dark-haired,  with  a  square  face,  a  hard  promi- 
nent jaw,  and  eyes  of  a  pale  gray.  And  he  wore  a  ragged 
old  jacket  and  a  gray  cloth  cap,  discolored  by  long  usage. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  he;  "but  isn't  it  here  that  live  Mes- 
dames  Moineaud,  who  make  cardboard  boxes  ? " 

Norine  stood  there  looking  at  him  with  sudden  uneasi- 

360 


FRUITFULNESS  361 

ness.  Her  heart  had  contracted  as  if  she  were  menaced. 
She  had  certainly  seen  that  face  somewhere  before;  but  she 
could  only  recall  one  old-time  danger,  which  suddenly 
seemed  to  revive,  more  formidable  than  ever,  as  if  threaten- 
ing to  spoil  her  quiet  life. 

"  Yes,  it  is  here,"  she  answered. 

Without  any  haste  the  young  man  glanced  around  the 
room.  He  must  have  expected  more  signs  of  means  than 
he  found,  for  he  pouted  slightly.  Then  his  eyes  rested  on 
the  child,  who,  like  a  well-behaved  little  boy,  had  been 
amusing  himself  with  reading,  and  had  now  raised  his  face 
to  examine  the  newcomer.  And  the  latter  concluded  his 
examination  by  directing  a  brief  glance  at  the  other  woman 
who  was  present,  a  slight,  sickly  creature  who  likewise  felt 
anxious  in  presence  of  that  sudden  apparition  of  the  un- 
known. 

"  I  was  told  the  left-hand  door  on  the  fourth  floor,"  the 
.young  man  resumed.  "  But,  all  the  same,  I  was  afraid  of 
making  a  mistake,  for  the  things  I  have  to  say  can't  be  said 
to  everybody.  It  isn't  an  easy  matter,  and,  of  course,  I 
thought  it  well  over  before  I  came  here." 

He  spoke  slowly  in  a  drawling  way,  and  after  again 
making  sure  that  the  other  woman  was  too  young  to  be  the 
one  he  sought,  he  kept  his  pale  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  Norine. 
The  growing  anguish  with  which  he  saw  her  quivering,  the 
appeal  that  she  was  evidently  making  to  her  memory,  induced 
him  to  prolong  things  for  another  moment.  Then  he  spoke 
out :  "  I  am  the  child  who  was  put  to  nurse  at  Rougemont ; 
my  name  is  Alexandre-Honore." 

There  was  no  need  for  him  to  say  anything  more.  The 
unhappy  Norine  began  to  tremble  from  head  to  foot,  clasped 
and  wrung  her  hands,  while  an  ashen  hue  came  over  her 
distorted  features.  Good  heavens  —  Beauchene  !  Yes,  it 
was  Beauchene  whom  he  resembled,  and  in  so  striking  a 
manner,  with  his  eyes  of  prey,  his  big  jaw  which  proclaimed 
an  enjoyer  consumed  by  base  voracity,  that  she  was  now 
astonished  that  she  had  not  been  able  to  name  him  at  her 
first  glance.  Her  legs  failed  her,  and  she  had  to  sit  down. 


362  FRUITFULNESS 

"  So  it's  you,"  said  Alexandra. 

As  she  continued  shivering,  confessing  the  truth  by  her 
manner,  but  unable  to  articulate  a  word,  to  such  a  point  did 
despair  and  fright  clutch  her  at  the  throat,  he  felt  the  need 
of  reassuring  her  a  little,  particularly  if  he  was  to  keep  that 
door  open  to  him. 

41  You  must  not  upset  yourself  like  that,"  said  he;  "you 
have  nothing  to  fear  from  me ;  it  isn't  my  intention  to  give 
you  any  trouble.  Only  when  I  learnt  at  last  where  you 
were  I  wished  to  know  you,  and  that  was  natural,  wasn't 
it  ?  I  even  fancied  that  perhaps  you  might  be  pleased  to 
see  me.  .  .  .  Then,  too,  the  truth  is  that  I'm  precious 
badly  off.  Three  years  ago  I  was  silly  enough  to  come 
back  to  Paris,  where  I  do  little  more  than  starve.  And  on 
the  days  when  one  hasn't  breakfasted,  one  feels  inclined  to 
look  up  one's  parents,  even  though  they  may  have  turned 
one  into  the  street,  for,  all  the  same,  they  can  hardly  be  so 
hard-hearted  as  to  refuse  one  a  plateful  of  soup." 

Tears  rose  to  Norine's  eyes.  This  was  the  finishing 
stroke,  the  return  of  that  wretched  cast-off  son,  that  big 
suspicious-looking  fellow  who  accused  her  and  complained 
of  starving.  Annoyed  at  being  unable  to  elicit  from  her 
any  response  but  shivers  and  sobs,  Alexandre  turned  to 
Cecile:  "You  are  her  sister,  I  know,"  said  he;  "tell  her 
that  it's  stupid  of  her  to  go  on  like  that.  I  haven't  come 
to  murder  her.  It's  funny  how  pleased  she  is  to  see  me ! 
Yet  I  don't  make  any  noise,  and  I  said  nothing  whatever 
to  the  door-porter  downstairs,  I  assure  you." 

Then  as  Cecile,  without  answering  him,  rose  to  go  and 
comfort  Norine,  he  again  became  interested  in  the  child, 
who  likewise  felt  frightened  and  turned  pale  on  seeing  the 
grief  of  his  two  mammas. 

"  So  that  lad  is  my  brother  ?  " 

Thereupon  Norine  suddenly  sprang  to  her  feet  and  set 
herself  between  the  child  and  him.  A  mad  fear  had  come 
to  her  of  some  catastrophe,  some  great  collapse  which 
would  crush  them  all.  Yet  she  did  not  wish  to  be  harsh, 
she  even  sought  kind  words,  but  amid  it  all  she  lost  her 


FRUITFULNESS  363 

head,  carried  away  by  feelings  of  revolt,  rancor,  instinctive 
hostility. 

"  You  came,  I  can  understand  it.  But  it  is  so  cruel. 
What  can  I  do  ?  After  so  many  years  one  doesn't  know  one 
another,  one  has  nothing  to  say.  And,  besides,  as  you  can 
see  for  yourself,  I'm  not  rich." 

Alexandre  glanced  round  the  room  for  the  second  time. 
"  Yes,  I  see,"  he  answered ;  "  and  my  father,  can't  you  tell 
me  his  name  ?  " 

She  remained  thunderstruck  by  this  question  and  turned 
yet  paler,  while  he  continued :  "  Because  if  my  father 
should  have  any  money  I  should  know  very  well  how  to 
make  him  give  me  some.  People  have  no  right  to  fling 
children  into  the  gutter  like  that." 

All  at  once  Norine  had  seen  the  past  rise  up  before  her : 
Beauchene,  the  works,  and  her  father,  who  now  had  just 
quitted  them  owing  to  his  infirmities,  leaving  his  son  Vic- 
tor behind  him. 

And  a  sort  of  instinctive  prudence  came  to  her  at  the 
thought  that  if  she  were  to  give  up  Beauchene's  name  she 
might  compromise  all  her  happy  life,  since  terrible  compli- 
cations might  ensue.  The  dread  she  felt  of  that  suspicious- 
looking  lad,  who  reeked  of  idleness  and  vice,  inspired  her 
with  an  idea :  "  Your  father  ?  He  has  long  been  dead," 
said  she. 

He  could  have  known  nothing,  have  learnt  nothing  on 
that  point,  for,  in  presence  of  the  energy  of  her  answer,  he 
expressed  no  doubt  whatever  of  her  veracity,  but  contented 
himself  with  making  a  rough  gesture  which  indicated  how 
angry  he  felt  at  seeing  his  hungry  hopes  thus  destroyed. 

"  So  I've  got  to  starve  !  "  he  growled. 

Norine,  utterly  distracted,  was  possessed  by  one  painful 
desire  —  a  desire  that  he  might  take  himself  away,  and 
cease  torturing  her  by  his  presence,  to  such  a  degree  did 
remorse,  and  pity,  and  fright,  and  horror  now  wring  her 
bleeding  heart.  She  opened  a  drawer  and  took  from  it 
a  ten-franc  piece,  her  savings  for  the  last  three  months, 
with  which  she  had  intended  to  buy  a  New  Year's  present 


364  FRUITFULNESS 

for  her  little  boy.  And  giving  those  ten  francs  to  Alex- 
andre,  she  said  :  "  Listen,  I  can  do  nothing  for  you.  We 
live  all  three  in  this  one  room,  and  we  scarcely  earn  our 
bread.  It  grieves  me  very  much  to  know  that  you  are  so 
unfortunately  circumstanced.  But  you  mustn't  rely  on  me. 
Do  as  we  do  —  work." 

He  pocketed  the  ten  francs,  and  remained  there  for 
another  moment  swaying  about,  and  saying  that  he  had 
not  come  for  money,  and  that  he  could  very  well  under- 
stand things.  For  his  part  he  always  behaved  properly 
with  people  when  people  behaved  properly  with  him.  And 
he  repeated  that  since  she  showed  herself  good-natured  he 
had  no  idea  of  creating  any  scandal.  A  mother  who  did 
what  she  could  performed  her  duty,  even  though  she  might 
only  give  a  ten-sous  piece.  Then,  as  he  was  at  last  going 
off,  he  inquired :  "  Won't  you  kiss  me  ?  " 

She  kissed  him,  but  with  cold  lips  and  lifeless  heart,  and 
the  two  smacking  kisses  which,  with  noisy  affectation,  he 
gave  her  in  return,  left  her  cheeks  quivering. 

"  And  au  revoir,  eh  ?  "  said  he.  "  Although  one  may 
be  poor  and  unable  to  keep  together,  each  knows  now  that 
the  other's  in  the  land  of  the  living.  And  there  is  no  rea- 
son why  I  shouldn't  come  up  just  now  and  again  to  wish 
you  good  day  when  I'm  passing." 

When  he  had  at  last  disappeared  long  silence  fell  amid 
the  infinite  distress  which  his  short  stay  had  brought  there. 
Norine  had  again  sunk  upon  a  chair,  as  if  overwhelmed  by 
this  catastrophe.  Cecile  had  been  obliged  to  sit  down  in 
front  of  her,  for  she  also  was  overcome.  And  it  was  she 
who,  amid  the  mournfulness  of  that  room,  which  but  a  lit- 
tle while  ago  had  held  all  their  happiness,  spoke  out  the  first 
to  complain  and  express  her  astonishment. 

"  But  you  did  not  ask  him  anything ;  we  know  nothing 
about  him,"  said  she.  "  Where  has  he  come  from  ? 
What  is  he  doing  ?  What  does  he  want  ?  And,  in  par- 
ticular, how  did  he  manage  to  discover  you  ?  These  were 
the  interesting  things  to  learn." 

"  Oh !  what  would  you  have ! "  replied  Norine.     "When 


FRUITFULNESS  365 

he  told  me  his  name  he  knocked  all  the  strength  out  of 
me ;  I  felt  as  cold  as  ice  !  Oh  !  it's  he,  there's  no  doubt 
of  it.  You  recognized  his  likeness  to  his  father,  didn't  you  ? 
But  you  are  right ;  we  know  nothing,  and  now  we  shall 
always  be  living  with  that  threat  over  our  heads,  in  fear  that 
everything  will  crumble  down  upon  us." 

All  her  strength,  all  her  courage  was  gone,  and  she  began 
to  sob,  stammering  indistinctly :  "  To  think  of  it !  a  big 
fellow  of  eighteen  falling  on  one  like  that  without  a  word 
of  warning  !  And  it's  quite  true  that  I  don't  love  him, 
since  I  don't  even  know  him.  When  he  kissed  me  I  felt 
nothing.  I  was  icy  cold,  as  if  my  heart  were  frozen.  O 
God !  O  God  !  what  trouble  to  be  sure,  and  how  horrid 
and  cruel  it  all  is  !  " 

Then,  as  her  little  boy,  on  seeing  her  weep,  ran  up  and 
flung  himself,  frightened  and  tearful,  against  her  bosom,  she 
wildly  caught  him  in  her  arms.  "  My  poor  little  one  !  my 
poor  little  one  !  if  only  you  don't  suffer  by  it;  if  only  my 
sin  doesn't  fall  on  you  !  Ah !  that  would  be  a  terrible 
punishment.  Really  the  best  course  is  for  folks  to  behave 
properly  in  life  if  they  don't  want  to  have  a  lot  of  trouble 
afterwards  !  " 

In  the  evening  the  sisters,  having  grown  somewhat 
calmer,  decided  that  their  best  course  would  be  to  write  to 
Mathieu.  Norine  remembered  that  he  had  called  on  her  a 
few  years  previously  to  ask  if  Alexandre  had  not  been  to 
see  her.  He  alone  knew  all  the  particulars  of  the  business, 
and  where  to  obtain  information.  And,  indeed,  as  soon  as 
the  sisters'  letter  reached  him  Mathieu  made  haste  to  call 
on  them  in  the  Rue  de  la  Federation,  for  he  was  anxious 
with  respect  to  the  effect  which  any  scandal  might  have  at 
the  works,  where  Beauchene's  position  was  becoming  worse 
every  day.  After  questioning  Norine  at  length,  he  guessed 
that  Alexandre  must  have  learnt  her  address  through  La 
Couteau,  though  he  could  not  say  precisely  how  this  had 
come  about.  At  last,  after  a  long  month  of  discreet  re- 
searches, conversations  with  Madame  Menoux,  Celeste,  and 
La  Couteau  herself,  he  was  able  in  some  measure  to  explain 


366  FRUITFULNESS 

things.  The  alert  had  certainly  come  from  the  inquiry  in- 
trusted to  the  nurse-agent  at  Rougemont,  that  visit  which 
she  had  made  to  the  hamlet  of  Saint-Pierre  in  quest  of 
information  respecting  the  lad  who  was  supposed  to  be  in 
apprenticeship  with  Montoir  the  wheelwright.  She  had 
talked  too  much,  said  too  much,  particularly  to  the  other 
apprentice,  that  Richard,  another  foundling,  and  one  of  such 
bad  instincts,  too,  that  seven  months  later  he  had  taken 
flight,  like  Alexandre,  after  purloining  some  money  from  his 
master.  Then  years  elapsed,  and  all  trace  of  them  was 
lost.  But  later  on,  most  assuredly  they  had  met  one 
another  on  the  Paris  pavement,  in  such  wise  that  the  big 
carroty  lad  had  told  the  little  dark  fellow  the  whole  story  : 
how  his  relatives  had  caused  a  search  to  be  made  for  him, 
and  perhaps,  too,  who  his  mother  was,  the  whole  inter- 
spersed with  tittle-tattle  and  ridiculous  inventions.  Still 
this  did  not  explain  everything,  and  to  understand  how 
Alexandre  had  procured  his  mother's  actual  address,  Mathieu 
had  to  presume  that  he  had  secured  it  from  La  Couteau, 
whom  Celeste  had  acquainted  with  so  many  things.  Indeed, 
he  learnt  at  Broquette's  nurse-agency  that  a  short,  thick- 
set young  man  with  pronounced  jaw-bones  had  come  there 
twice  to  speak  to  La  Couteau.  Nevertheless,  many  points 
remained  unexplained ;  the  whole  affair  had  taken  place 
amid  the  tragic,  murky  gloom  of  Parisian  low  life,  whose 
mire  it  is  not  healthy  to  stir.  Mathieu  ended  by  resting 
content  with  a  general  notion  of  the  business,  for  he  him- 
self felt  frightened  at  the  charges  already  hanging  over  those 
two  young  bandits,  who  lived  so  precariously,  dragging  their 
idleness  and  their  vices  over  the  pavement  of  the  great  city. 
And  thus  all  his  researches  had  resulted  in  but  one  consol- 
ing certainty,  which  was  that  even  if  Norine  the  mother 
was  known,  the  father's  name  and  position  were  certainly 
not  suspected  by  anybody. 

When  Mathieu  saw  Norine  again  on  the  subject  he  ter- 
rified her  by  the  few  particulars  which  he  was  obliged  to 
give  her. 

"  Oh  !  I  beg  you,  I  beg  you,  do  not  let  him  come  again," 


FRUITFULNESS  367 

she  pleaded.     "  Find  some  means  ;  prevent  him  from  com- 
ing here.     It  upsets  me  too  dreadfully  to  see  him." 

Mathieu,  of  course,  could  do  nothing  in  this  respect. 
After  mature  reflection  he  realized  that  the  great  object  of 
his  efforts  must  be  to  prevent  Alexandre  from  discovering 
Beauchene.  What  he  had  learnt  of  the  young  man  was  so 
bad,  so  dreadful,  that  he  wished  to  spare  Constance  the  pain 
and  scandal  of  being  blackmailed.  He  could  see  her  blanch- 
ing at  the  thought  of  the  ignominy  of  that  lad  whom  she  had 
so  passionately  desired  to  find,  and  he  felt  ashamed  for  her 
sake,  and  deemed  it  more  compassionate  and  even  necessary 
to  bury  the  secret  in  the  silence  of  the  grave.  Still,  it  was 
only  after  a  long  fight  with  himself  that  he  came  to  this 
decision,  for  he  felt  that  it  was  hard  to  have  to  abandon  the 
unhappy  youth  in  the  streets.  Was  it  still  possible  to  save 
him  ?  He  doubted  it.  And  besides,  who  would  undertake 
the  task,  who  would  know  how  to  instil  honest  principles 
into  that  waif  by  teaching  him  to  work  ?  It  all  meant  yet 
another  man  cast  overboard,  forsaken  amid  the  tempest, 
and  Mathieu's  heart  bled  at  the  thought  of  condemning 
him,  though  he  could  think  of  no  reasonable  means  of  sal- 
vation. 

"  My  opinion,"  he  said  to  Norine,  "  is  that  you  should 
keep  his  father's  name  from  him  for  the  present.  Later  on 
we  will  see.  But  just  now  I  should  fear  worry  for  every- 
body." 

She  eagerly  acquiesced.  "  Oh  !  you  need  not  be  anx- 
ious," she  responded.  "  I  have  already  told  him  that  his 
father  is  dead.  If  I  were  to  speak  out  everything  would  fall 
on  my  shoulders,  and  my  great  desire  is  to  be  left  in  peace 
in  my  corner  with  my  little  one." 

With  sorrowful  mien  Mathieu  continued  reflecting,  un- 
able to  make  up  his  mind  to  utterly  abandon  the  young  man. 
"  If  he  would  only  work,  I  would  find  him  some  employ- 
ment. And  I  would  even  take  him  on  at  the  farm  later, 
when  I  should  no  longer  have  cause  to  fear  that  he  might 
contaminate  my  people.  However,  I  will  see  what  can  be 
done ;  I  know  a  wheelwright  who  would  doubtless  employ 


368  FRUITFULNESS 

him,  and  I  will  write  to  you  in  order  that  you  may  tell  him 
where  to  apply,  when  he  comes  back  to  see  you." 

"  What  ?  When  he  comes  back  !  "  she  cried  in  despair. 
"  So  you  think  that  he  will  come  back.  O  God  !  O  God  ! 
I  shall  never  be  happy  again." 

He  did,  indeed,  come  back.  But  when  she  gave  him  the 
wheelwright's  address  he  sneered  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
He  knew  all  about  the  Paris  wheelwrights !  A  set  of  sweaters, 
a  parcel  of  lazy  rogues,  who  made  poor  people  toil  and  moil 
for  them.  Besides,  he  had  never  finished  his  apprenticeship; 
he  was  only  fit  for  running  errands,  in  which  capacity  he 
was  willing  to  accept  a  post  in  a  large  shop.  When  Mathieu 
had  procured  him  such  a  situation,  he  did  not  remain  in  it 
a  fortnight.  One  fine  evening  he  disappeared  with  the  parcels 
of  goods  which  he  had  been  told  to  deliver.  In  turn  he  tried 
to  learn  a  baker's  calling,  became  a  mason's  hodman,  secured 
work  at  the  markets,  but  without  ever  fixing  himself  any- 
where. He  simply  discouraged  his  protector,  and  left  all 
sorts  of  roguery  behind  him  for  others  to  liquidate.  It  became 
necessary  to  renounce  the  hope  of  saving  him.  When  he 
turned  up,  as  he  did  periodically,  emaciated,  hungry,  and  in 
rags,  they  had  to  limit  themselves  to  providing  him  with  the 
means  to  buy  a  jacket  and  some  bread. 

Thus  Norine  lived  on  in  a  state  of  mortal  disquietude. 
For  long  weeks  Alexandre  seemed  to  be  dead,  but  she,  never- 
theless, started  at  the  slightest  sound  that  she  heard  on  the 
landing.  She  always  felt  him  to  be  there,  and  whenever  he 
suddenly  rapped  on  the  door  she  recognized  his  heavy  knock 
and  began  to  tremble  as  if  he  had  come  to  beat  her.  He  had 
noticed  how  his  presence  reduced  the  unhappy  woman  to  a 
state  of  abject  terror,  and  he  profited  by  this  to  extract  from 
her  whatever  little  sums  she  hid  away.  When  she  had  handed 
him  the  five-franc  piece  which  Mathieu,  as  a  rule,  left  with 
her  for  this  purpose,  the  young  rascal  was  not  content,  but 
began  searching  for  more.  At  times  he  made  his  appearance 
in  a  wild,  haggard  state,  declaring  that  he  should  certainly  be 
sent  to  prison  that  evening  if  he  did  not  secure  ten  francs, 
and  talking  the  while  of  smashing  everything  in  the  room 


FRUITFULNESS  369 

or  else  of  carrying  off  the  little  clock  in  order  to  sell  it. 
And  it  was  then  necessary  for  Cecile  to  intervene  and  turn 
him  out  of  the  place ;  for,  however  puny  she  might  be,  she 
had  a  brave  heart.  But  if  he  went  off  it  was  only  to  return 
a  few  days  later  with  fresh  demands,  threatening  that  he 
would  shout  his  story  to  everybody  on  the  stairs  if  the  ten 
francs  were  not  given  to  him.  One  day,  when  his  mother 
had  no  money  in  the  place  and  began  to  weep,  he  talked  of 
ripping  up  the  mattress,  where,  said  he,  she  probably  kept 
her  hoard.  Briefly,  the  sisters'  little  home  was  becoming  a 
perfect  hell. 

The  greatest  misfortune  of  all,  however,  was  that  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Federation  Alexandre  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Alfred,  Norine's  youngest  brother,  the  last  born  of  the 
Moineaud  family.  He  was  then  twenty,  and  thus  two  years 
the  senior  of  his  nephew.  No  worse  prowler  than  he  existed. 
He  was  the  genuine  rough,  with  pale,  beardless  face,  blinking 
eyes,  and  twisted  mouth,  the  real  gutter-weed  that  sprouts  up 
amid  the  Parisian  manure-heaps.  At  seven  years  of  age  he 
robbed  his  sisters,  beating  Cecile  every  Saturday  in  order  to 
tear  her  earnings  from  her.  Mother  Moineaud,  worn  out 
with  hard  work  and  unable  to  exercise  a  constant  watch  over 
him,  had  never  managed  to  make  him  attend  school  regu- 
larly, or  to  keep  him  in  apprenticeship.  He  exasperated 
her  to  such  a  degree  that  she  herself  ended  by  turning  him 
into  the  streets  in  order  to  secure  a  little  peace  and  quiet- 
ness at  home.  His  big  brothers  kicked  him  about,  his 
father  was  at  work  from  morning  till  evening,  and  the  child, 
thus  morally  a  waif,  grew  up  out  of  doors  for  a  career  of 
vice  and  crime  among  the  swarms  of  lads  and  girls  of  his 
age,  who  all  rotted  there  together  like  apples  fallen  on  the 
ground.  And  as  Alfred  grew  he  became  yet  more  corrupt ; 
he  was  like  the  sacrificed  surplus  of  a  poor  man's  family, 
the  overplus  poured  into  the  gutter,  the  spoilt  fruit  which 
spoils  all  that  comes  into  contact  with  it. 

Like  Alexandre,  too,  he  nowadays  only  lived  chancewise, 
and  it  was  not  even  known  where  he  had  been  sleeping, 
since  Mother  Moineaud  had  died  at  a  hospital  exhausted 


370  FRUITFULNESS 

by  her  long  life  of  wretchedness  and  family  cares  which  had 
proved  far  too  heavy  for  her.  She  was  only  sixty  at  the 
time  of  her  death,  but  was  as  bent  and  as  worn  out  as  a  cen- 
tenarian. Moineaud,  two  years  older,  bent  like  herself,  his 
legs  twisted  by  paralysis,  a  lamentable  wreck  after  fifty  years 
of  unjust  toil,  had  been  obliged  to  quit  the  factory,  and  thus 
the  home  was  empty,  and  its  few  poor  sticks  had  been  cast 
to  the  four  winds  of  heaven. 

Moineaud  fortunately  received  a  little  pension,  for  which 
he  was  indebted  to  Denis's  compassionate  initiative.  But 
he  was  sinking  into  second  childhood,  worn  out  by  his  long 
and  constant  efforts,  and  not  only  did  he  squander  his  few 
coppers  in  drink,  but  he  could  not  be  left  alone,  for  his  feet 
were  lifeless,  and  his  hands  shook  to  such  a  degree  that  he 
ran  the  risk  of  setting  all  about  him  on  fire  whenever  he 
tried  to  light  his  pipe.  At  last  he  found  himself  stranded 
in  the  home  of  his  daughters,  Norine  and  Cecile,  the  only 
two  who  had  heart  enough  to  take  him  in.  They  rented  a 
little  closet  for  him,  on  the  fifth  floor  of  the  house,  over 
their  own  room,  and  they  nursed  him  and  bought  him  food 
and  clothes  with  his  pension-money,  to  which  they  added  a 
good  deal  of  their  own.  As  they  remarked  in  their  gay, 
courageous  way,  they  now  had  two  children,  a  little  one  and 
a  very  old  one,  which  was  a  heavy  burden  for  two  women 
who  earned  but  five  francs  a  day,  although  they  were  ever 
making  boxes  from  morn  till  night.  There  was  a  touch  of 
soft  irony  in  the  circumstance  that  old  Moineaud  should 
have  been  unable  to  find  any  other  refuge  than  the  home  of 
his  daughter  Norine —  that  daughter  whom  he  had  formerly 
turned  away  and  cursed  for  her  misconduct,  that  hussy  who 
had  dishonored  him,  but  whose  very  hands  he  now  kissed 
when,  for  fear  lest  he  should  set  the  tip  of  his  nose  ablaze, 
she  helped  him  to  light  his  pipe. 

All  the  same,  the  shaky  old  nest  of  the  Moineauds  was 
destroyed,  and  the  whole  family  had  flown  off,  dispersed 
chancewise.  Irma  alone,  thanks  to  her  fine  marriage  with 
a  clerk,  lived  happily,  playing  the  part  of  a  lady,  and  so  full 
of  vanity  that  she  no  longer  condescended  to  see  her  brothers 


FRUITFULNESS  371 

and  sisters.  Victor,  meantime,  was  leading  at  the  factory 
much  the  same  life  as  his  father  had  led,  working  at  the 
same  mill  as  the  other,  and  in  the  same  blind,  stubborn  way. 
He  had  married,  and  though  he  was  under  six-and-thirty, 
he  already  had  six  children,  three  boys  and  three  girls,  so 
that  his  wife  seemed  fated  to  much  the  same  existence  as 
his  mother  La  Moineaude.  Both  of  them  would  finish 
broken  down,  and  their  children  in  their  turn  would  uncon- 
sciously perpetuate  the  swarming  and  accursed  starveling  race. 
At  Euphrasie's,  destiny  the  inevitable  showed  itself  more 
tragic  still.  The  wretched  woman  had  not  been  lucky 
enough  to  die.  She  had  gradually  become  bedridden,  quite 
unable  to  move,  though  she  lived  on  and  could  hear  and  see 
and  understand  things.  From  that  open  grave,  her  bed,  she 
had  beheld  the  final  break-up  of  what  remained  of  her  sorry 
home.  She  was  nothing  more  than  a  thing,  insulted  by  her 
husband  and  tortured  by  Madame  Joseph,  who  would  leave 
her  for  days  together  without  water,  and  fling  her  occasional 
crusts  much  as  they  might  be  flung  to  a  sick  animal  whose 
litter  is  not  even  changed.  Terror-stricken,  and  full  of 
humility  amid  her  downfall,  Euphrasie  resigned  herself  to 
everything ;  but  the  worst  was  that  her  three  children,  her 
twin  daughters  and  her  son,  being  abandoned  to  themselves, 
sank  into  vice,  the  all-corrupting  life  of  the  streets.  Benard, 
tired  out,  distracted  by  the  wreck  of  his  home,  had  taken  to 
drinking  with  Madame  Joseph;  and  afterwards  they  would 
fight  together,  break  the  furniture,  and  drive  off  the  chil- 
dren, who  came  home  muddy,  in  rags,  and  with  their  pockets 
full  of  stolen  things.  On  two  occasions  Benard  disappeared 
for  a  week  at  a  time.  On  the  third  he  did  not  come  back 
at  all.  When  the  rent  fell  due,  Madame  Joseph  in  her  turn 
took  herself  off".  And  then  came  the  end.  Euphrasie  had 
to  be  removed  to  the  hospital  of  La  Salpetriere,  the  last 
refuge  of  the  aged  and  the  infirm ;  while  the  children, 
henceforth  without  a  home  in  name,  were  driven  into  the 
gutter.  The  boy  never  turned  up  again  ;  it  was  as  if  he 
had  been  swallowed  by  some  sewer.  One  of  the  twin  girls, 
found  in  the  streets,  died  in  a  hospital  during  the  ensuing 


372  FRUITFULNESS 

year ;  and  the  other,  Toinette,  a  fair-haired  scraggy  hussy, 
who,  however  puny  she  might  look,  was  a  terrible  little 
creature  with  the  eyes  and  the  teeth  of  a  wolf,  lived  under 
the  bridges,  in  the  depths  of  the  stone  quarries,  in  the  dingy 
garrets  of  haunts  of  vice,  so  that  at  sixteen  she  was  already 
an  expert  thief.  Her  fate  was  similar  to  Alfred's ;  here 
was  a  girl  morally  abandoned,  then  contaminated  by  the 
life  of  the  streets,  and  carried  off  to  a  criminal  career. 
And,  indeed,  the  uncle  and  the  niece  having  met  by  chance, 
ended  by  consorting  together,  their  favorite  refuge,  it  was 
thought,  being  the  limekilns  in  the  direction  of  Les  Mouli- 
neaux. 

One  day  then  it  happened  that  Alexandre  upon  calling  at 
Norine's  there  encountered  Alfred,  who  came  at  times  to 
try  to  extract  a  half-franc  from  old  Moineaud,  his  father. 
The  two  young  bandits  went  off  together,  chatted,  and  met 
again.  And  from  that  chance  encounter  there  sprang  a  band. 
Alexandre  was  living  with  Richard,  and  Alfred  brought 
Toinette  to  them.  Thus  they  were  four  in  number,  and 
the  customary  developments  followed  :  begging  at  first,  the 
girl  putting  out  her  hand  at  the  instigation  of  the  three 
prowlers,  who  remained  on  the  watch  and  drew  alms  by 
force  at  nighttime  from  belated  bourgeois  encountered  in 
dark  corners  ;  next  came  vulgar  vice  and  its  wonted  attend- 
ant, blackmail  j  and  then  theft,  petty  larceny  to  begin  with, 
the  pilfering  of  things  displayed  for  sale  by  shopkeepers, 
and  afterwards  more  serious  affairs,  premeditated  expedi- 
tions, mapped  out  like  real  war  plans. 

The  band  slept  wherever  it  could ;  now  in  suspicious 
dingy  doss-houses,  now  on  waste  ground.  In  summer  time 
there  were  endless  saunters  through  the  woods  of  the 
environs,  pending  the  arrival  of  night,  which  handed  Paris 
over  to  their  predatory  designs.  They  found  themselves 
at  the  Central  Markets,  among  the  crowds  on  the  boule- 
vards, in  the  low  taverns,  along  the  deserted  avenues  — 
indeed,  wherever  they  sniffed  the  possibility  of  a  stroke  of 
luck,  the  chance  of  snatching  the  bread  of  idleness,  or  the 
pleasures  of  vice.  They  were  like  a  little  clan  of  savages 


FRUITFULNESS  373 

on  the  war-path  athwart  civilization,  living  outside  the  pale 
of  the  laws.  They  suggested  young  wild  beasts  beating 
the  ancestral  forest ;  they  typified  the  human  animal  re- 
lapsing into  barbarism,  forsaken  since  birth,  and  evincing 
the  ancient  instincts  of  pillage  and  carnage.  And  like 
noxious  weeds  they  grew  up  sturdily,  becoming  bolder  and 
bolder  each  day,  exacting  a  bigger  and  bigger  ransom  from 
the  fools  who  toiled  and  moiled,  ever  extending  their  thefts 
and  marching  along  the  road  to  murder. 

Never  should  it  be  forgotten  that  the  child,  born  chance- 
wise,  and  then  cast  upon  the  pavement,  without  super- 
vision, without  prop  or  help,  rots  there  and  becomes  a 
terrible  ferment  of  social  decomposition.  All  those  little 
ones  thrown  to  the  gutter,  like  superfluous  kittens  are  flung 
into  some  sewer,  all  those  forsaken  ones,  those  wanderers 
of  the  pavement  who  beg,  and  thieve,  and  indulge  in  vice, 
form  the  dung-heap  in  which  the  worst  crimes  germinate. 
Childhood  left  to  wretchedness  breeds  a  fearful  nucleus  of 
infection  in  the  tragic  gloom  of  the  depths  of  Paris.  Those 
who  are  thus  imprudently  cast  into  the  streets  yield  a  har- 
vest of  brigandage  —  that  frightful  harvest  of  evil  which 
makes  all  society  totter. 

When  Norine,  through  the  boasting  of  Alexandre  and 
Alfred,  who  took  pleasure  in  astonishing  her,  began  to 
suspect  the  exploits  of  the  band,  she  felt  so  frightened  that 
she  had  a  strong  bolt  placed  upon  her  door.  And  when 
night  had  fallen  she  no  longer  admitted  any  visitor  until 
she  knew  his  name.  Her  torture  had  been  lasting  for 
nearly  two  years ;  she  was  ever  quivering  with  alarm  at 
the  thought  of  Alexandre  rushing  in  upon  her  some  dark 
night.  He  was  twenty  now ;  he  spoke  authoritatively,  and 
threatened  her  with  atrocious  revenge  whenever  he  had  to 
retire  with  empty  hands.  One  day,  in  spite  of  Cecile,  he 
threw  himself  upon  the  wardrobe  and  carried  off  a  bundle 
of  linen,  handkerchiefs,  towels,  napkins,  and  sheets,  intend- 
ing to  sell  them.  And  the  sisters  did  not  dare  to  pursue 
him  down  the  stairs.  Despairing,  weeping,  overwhelmed 
by  it  all,  they  had  sunk  down  upon  their  chairs. 


374  FRUITFULNESS 

That  winter  proved  a  very  severe  one ;  and  the  two  poor 
workwomen,  pillaged  in  this  fashion,  would  have  perished 
in  their  sorry  home  of  cold  and  starvation,  together  with 
the  dear  child  for  whom  they  still  did  their  best,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  help  which  their  old  friend,  Madame  Angelin, 
regularly  brought  them.  She  was  still  a  lady-delegate  of 
the  Poor  Relief  Service,  and  continued  to  watch  over  the 
children  of  unhappy  mothers  in  that  terrible  district  of 
Crenelle,  whose  poverty  is  so  great.  But  for  a  long  time 
past  she  had  been  unable  to  do  anything  officially  for 
Norine.  If  she  still  brought  her  a  twenty-franc  piece 
every  month,  it  was  because  charitable  people  intrusted 
her  with  fairly  large  amounts,  knowing  that  she  could 
distribute  them  to  advantage  in  the  dreadful  inferno  which 
her  functions  compelled  her  to  frequent.  She  set  her  last 
joy  and  found  the  great  consolation  of  her  desolate,  child- 
less life  in  thus  remitting  alms  to  poor  mothers  whose  little 
ones  laughed  at  her  joyously  as  soon  as  they  saw  her  arrive 
with  her  hands  full  of  good  things. 

One  day  when  the  weather  was  frightful,  all  rain  and 
wind,  Madame  Angelin  lingered  for  a  little  while  in 
Norine's  room.  It  was  barely  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, and  she  was  just  beginning  her  round.  On  her  lap 
lay  her  little  bag,  bulging  out  with  the  gold  and  the  silver 
which  she  had  to  distribute.  Old  Moineaud  was  there, 
installed  on  a  chair  and  smoking  his  pipe,  in  front  of  her. 
And  she  felt  concerned  about  his  needs,  and  explained  that 
she  would  have  greatly  liked  to  obtain  a  monthly  relief 
allowance  for  him. 

"  But  if  you  only  knew,"  she  added,  "  what  suffering 
there  is  among  the  poor  during  these  winter  months.  We 
are  quite  swamped,  we  cannot  give  to  everybody,  there  are 
too  many.  And  after  all  you  are  among  the  fortunate 
ones.  I  find  some  lying  like  dogs  on  the  tiled  floors 
of  their  rooms,  without  a  scrap  of  coal  to  make  a  fire  or 
even  a  potato  to  eat.  And  the  poor  children,  too,  good 
Heavens !  Children  in  heaps  among  vermin,  without 
shoes,  without  clothes,  all  growing  up  as  if  destined  for 


FRUITFULNESS  375 

prison  or  the  scaffold,  unless  consumption  should  carry 
them  off." 

Madame  Angelin  quivered  and  closed  her  eyes  as  if  to 
escape  the  spectacle  of  all  the  terrifying  things  that  she 
evoked,  the  wretchedness,  the  shame,  the  crimes  that  she 
elbowed  during  her  continual  perambulations  through  that 
hell  of  poverty,  vice,  and  hunger.  She  often  returned  home 
pale  and  silent,  having  reached  the  uttermost  depths  of 
human  abomination,  and  never  daring  to  say  all.  At  times 
she  trembled  and  raised  her  eyes  to  Heaven,  wondering 
what  vengeful  cataclysm  would  swallow  up  that  accursed 
city  of  Paris. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  murmured  once  more  ;  "  their  sufferings  are 
so  great,  may  their  sins  be  forgiven  them." 

Moineaud  listened  to  her  in  a  state  of  stupor,  as  if  he 
were  unable  to  understand.  At  last  with  difficulty  he 
succeeded  in  taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth.  It  was, 
indeed,  quite  an  effort  now  for  him  to  do  such  a  thing,  and 
yet  for  fifty  years  he  had  wrestled  with  iron — iron  in  the 
vice  or  on  the  anvil. 

"  There  is  nothing  like  good  conduct,"  he  stammered 
huskily.  "  When  a  man  works  he's  rewarded." 

Then  he  wished  to  set  his  pipe  between  his  lips  once 
more,  but  was  unable  to  do  so.  His  hand,  deformed  by 
the  constant  use  of  tools,  trembled  too  violently.  So  it 
became  necessary  for  Norine  to  rise  from  her  chair  and 
help  him. 

"  Poor  father  ! "  exclaimed  Cecile,  who  had  not  ceased 
working,  cutting  out  the  cardboard  for  the  little  boxes  she 
made  :  "  What  would  have  become  of  him  if  we  had  not 
given  him  shelter  ?  It  isn't  Irma,  with  her  stylish  hats  and 
her  silk  dresses  who  would  have  cared  to  have  him  at  her 
place." 

Meantime  Norine's  little  boy  had  taken  his  stand  in  front 
of  Madame  Angelin,  for  he  knew  very  well  that,  on  the 
days  when  the  good  lady  called,  there  was  some  dessert  at 
supper  in  the  evening.  He  smiled  at  her  with  the  bright 
eyes  which  lit  up  his  pretty  fair  face,  crowned  with  tumbled 


376  FRUITFULNESS 

sunshiny  hair.  And  when  she  noticed  with  what  a  merry 
glance  he  was  waiting  for  her  to  open  her  little  bag,  she 
felt  quite  moved. 

"  Come  and  kiss  me,  my  little  friend,"  said  she. 

She  knew  no  sweeter  reward  for  all  that  she  did  than 
the  kisses  of  the  children  in  the  poor  homes  whither  she 
brought  a  little  joy.  When  the  youngster  had  boldly  thrown 
his  arms  round  her  neck,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  and, 
addressing  herself  to  his  mother,  she  repeated  :  "  No,  no, 
you  must  not  complain ;  there  are  others  who  are  more 
unhappy  than  you.  I  know  one  who  if  this  pretty  little 
fellow  could  only  be  her  own  would  willingly  accept  your 
poverty,  and  paste  boxes  together  from  morning  till  night 
and  lead  a  recluse's  life  in  this  one  room,  which  he  suffices 
to  fill  with  sunshine.  Ah  !  good  Heavens,  if  you  were  only 
willing,  if  we  could  only  change." 

For  a  moment  she  became  silent,  afraid  that  she  might 
burst  into  sobs.  The  wound  dealt  her  by  her  childlessness 
had  always  remained  open.  She  and  her  husband  were  now 
growing  old  in  bitter  solitude  in  three  little  rooms  over- 
looking a  courtyard  in  the  Rue  de  Lille.  In  this  retirement 
they  subsisted  on  the  salary  which  she,  the  wife,  received  as 
a  lady-delegate,  joined  to  what  they  had  been  able  to  save 
of  their  original  fortune.  The  former  fan-painter  of  trium- 
phant mien  was  now  completely  blind,  a  mere  thing,  a  poor 
suffering  thing,  whom  his  wife  seated  every  morning  in  an 
armchair  where  she  still  found  him  in  the  evening  when  she 
returned  home  from  her  incessant  peregrinations  through 
the  frightful  misery  of  guilty  mothers  and  martyred  children. 
He  could  no  longer  eat,  he  could  no  longer  go  to  bed  with- 
out her  help,  he  had  only  her  left  him,  he  was  her  child  as 
he  would  say  at  times  with  a  despairing  irony  which  made 
them  both  weep. 

A  child  ?  Ah,  yes !  she  had  ended  by  having  one,  and  it 
was  he!  An  old  child,  born  of  disaster;  one  who  appeared 
to  be  eighty  though  he  was  less  than  fifty  years  old,  and  who 
amid  his  black  and  ceaseless  night  ever  dreamt  of  sunshine 
during  the  long  hours  which  he  was  compelled  to  spend 


FRUITFULNESS  377 

alone.  And  Madame  Angelin  did  not  only  envy  that  poor 
workwoman  her  little  boy,  she  also  envied  her  that  old  man 
smoking  his  pipe  yonder,  that  infirm  relic  of  labor  who  at 
all  events  saw  clearly  and  still  lived. 

"  Don't  worry  the  lady,"  said  Norine  to  her  son  ;  for  she 
felt  anxious,  quite  moved  indeed,  at  seeing  the  other  so 
disturbed,  with  her  heart  so  full.  "  Run  away  and  play." 

She  had  learnt  a  little  of  Madame  Angelin's  sad  story 
from  Mathieu.  And  with  the  deep  gratitude  which  she 
felt  towards  her  benefactress  was  blended  a  sort  of  impas- 
sioned respect,  which  rendered  her  timid  and  deferent  each 
time  that  she  saw  her  arrive,  tall  and  distinguished,  ever 
clad  in  black,  and  showing  the  remnants  of  her  former 
beauty  which  sorrow  had  wrecked  already,  though  she 
was  barely  six-and-forty  years  of  age.  For  Norine,  the 
lady-delegate  was  like  some  queen  who  had  fallen  from  her 
throne  amid  frightful  and  undeserved  sufferings. 

"  Run  away,  go  and  play,  my  darling,"  Norine  repeated 
to  her  boy  :  "  you  are  tiring  madame." 

"  Tiring  me,  oh  no ! "  exclaimed  Madame  Angelin, 
conquering  her  emotion.  "  On  the  contrary,  he  does  me 
good.  Kiss  me,  kiss  me  again,  my  pretty  fellow." 

Then  she  began  to  bestir  and  collect  herself. 

"  Well,  it  is  getting  late,  and  I  have  so  many  places  to 
go  to  between  now  and  this  evening !  This  is  what  I 
can  do  for  you." 

She  was  at  last  taking  a  gold  coin  from  her  little  bag, 
but  at  that  very  moment  a  heavy  blow,  as  if  dealt  by  a  fist, 
resounded  on  the  door.  And  Norine  turned  ghastly  pale, 
for  she  had  recognized  Alexandre's  brutal  knock.  What 
could  she  do  ?  If  she  did  not  open  the  door,  the  bandit 
would  go  on  knocking,  and  raise  a  scandal.  She  was 
obliged  to  open  it,  but  things  did  not  take  the  violent  tragi- 
cal turn  which  she  had  feared.  Surprised  at  seeing  a  lady 
there,  Alexandre  did  not  even  open  his  mouth.  He  sim- 
ply slipped  inside,  and  stationed  himself  bolt  upright  against 
the  wall.  The  lady-delegate  had  raised  her  eyes  and  then 
carried  them  elsewhere,  understanding  that  this  young  fel- 


378  FRUITFULNESS 

low  must  be  some  friend,  probably  some  relative.  And 
without  thought  of  concealment,  she  went  on  : 

"  Here  are  twenty  francs,  I  can't  do  more.  Only  I 
promise  you  that  I  will  try  to  double  the  amount  next 
month.  It  will  be  the  rent  month,  and  I've  already  applied 
for  help  on  all  sides,  and  people  have  promised  to  give  me 
the  utmost  they  can.  But  shall  I  ever  have  enough  ?  So 
many  applications  are  made  to  me." 

Her  little  bag  had  remained  open  on  her  knees,  and 
Alexandre,  with  his  glittering  eyes,  was  searching  it,  weigh- 
ing in  fancy  all  the  treasure  of  the  poor  that  it  contained, 
all  the  gold  and  silver  and  even  the  copper  money  that  dis- 
tended its  sides.  Still  in  silence,  he  watched  Madame 
Angelin  as  she  closed  it,  slipped  its  little  chain  round  her 
wrist,  and  then  finally  rose  from  her  chair. 

"  Well,  au  revoir,  till  next  month  then,"  she  resumed. 
"  I  shall  certainly  call  on  the  5th ;  and  in  all  probability  I 
shall  begin  my  round  with  you.  But  it's  possible  that  it 
may  be  rather  late  in  the  afternoon,  for  it  happens  to  be 
my  poor  husband's  name-day.  And  so  be  brave  and  work 
well." 

Norine  and  Cecile  had  likewise  risen,  in  order  to  escort 
her  to  the  door.  Here  again  there  was  an  outpouring  of 
gratitude,  and  the  child  once  more  kissed  the  good  lady 
on  both  cheeks  with  all  his  little  heart.  The  sisters,  so 
terrified  by  Alexandre's  arrival,  at  last  began  to  breathe 
again. 

In  point  of  fact  the  incident  terminated  fairly  well,  for 
the  young  man  showed  himself  accommodating.  When 
Cecile  returned  from  obtaining  change  for  the  gold,  he 
contented  himself  with  taking  one  of  the  four  five-franc 
pieces  which  she  brought  up  with  her.  And  he  did  not 
tarry  to  torture  them  as  was  his  wont,  but  immediately 
went  off  with  the  money  he  had  levied,  whistling  the  while 
the  air  of  a  hunting-song. 

The  5th  of  the  ensuing  month,  a  Saturday,  was  one  of 
the  gloomiest,  most  rainy  days  of  that  wretched,  mournful 
winter.  Darkness  fell  rapidly  already  at  three  o'clock  in 


FRUITFULNESS  379 

the  afternoon,  and  it  became  almost  night.  At  the  deserted 
end  of  Rue  de  la  Federation  there  was  an  expanse  of  waste 
ground,  a  building  site,  for  long  years  enclosed  by  a  fence, 
which  dampness  had  ended  by  rotting.  Some  of  the  boards 
were  missing,  and  at  one  part  there  was  quite  a  breach. 
All  through  that  afternoon,  in  spite  of  the  constantly  recur- 
ring downpours,  a  scraggy  girl  remained  stationed  near  that 
breach,  wrapped  to  her  eyes  in  the  ragged  remnants  of  an 
old  shawl,  doubtless  for  protection  against  the  cold.  She 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some  chance  meeting,  the  advent 
it  might  be  of  some  charitably  disposed  wayfarer.  And 
her  impatience  was  manifest,  for  while  keeping  close  to  the 
fence  like  some  animal  lying  in  wait,  she  continually  peered 
through  the  breach,  thrusting  out  her  tapering  weasel's  head 
and  watching  yonder,  in  the  direction  of  the  Champ  de  Mars. 

Hours  went  by,  three  o'clock  struck,  and  then  such  dark 
clouds  rolled  over  the  livid  sky,  that  the  girl  herself  became 
blurred,  obscured,  as  if  she  were  some  mere  piece  of  wreck- 
age cast  into  the  darkness.  At  times  she  raised  her  head 
and  watched  the  sky  darken,  with  eyes  that  glittered  as  if 
to  thank  it  for  throwing  so  dense  a  gloom  over  that  deserted 
corner,  that  spot  so  fit  for  an  ambuscade.  And  just  as  the 
rain  had  once  more  begun  to  fall,  a  lady  could  be  seen 
approaching,  a  lady  clad  in  black,  quite  black,  under  an  open 
umbrella.  While  seeking  to  avoid  the  puddles  in  her  path, 
she  walked  on  quickly,  like  one  in  a  hurry,  who  goes  about 
her  business  on  foot  in  order  to  save  herself  the  expense  of 
a  cab. 

From  some  precise  description  which  she  had  obtained, 
Toinette,  the  girl,  appeared  to  recognize  this  lady  from  afar 
off.  She  was  indeed  none  other  than  Madame  Angelin, 
coming  quickly  from  the  Rue  de  Lille,  on  her  way  to  the 
homes  of  her  poor,  with  the  little  chain  of  her  little  bag 
encircling  her  wrist.  And  when  the  girl  espied  the  gleam- 
ing steel  of  that  little  chain,  she  no  longer  had  any  doubts, 
but  whistled  softly.  And  forthwith  cries  and  moans  arose 
from  a  dim  corner  of  the  vacant  ground,  while  she  herself 
began  to  wail  and  call  distressfully. 


38o  FRUITFULNESS 

Astonished,  disturbed  by  it  all,  Madame  Angelin  stopped 
short. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  girl  ?  "  she  asked. 

41  Oh  !  madame,  my  brother  has  fallen  yonder  and  broken 
his  leg." 

"  What,  fallen  ?     What  has  he  fallen  from  ?  " 

"  Oh !  madame,  there's  a  shed  yonder  where  we  sleep, 
because  we  haven't  any  home,  and  he  was  using  an  old 
ladder  to  try  to  prevent  the  rain  from  pouring  in  on  us,  and 
he  fell  and  broke  his  leg." 

Thereupon  the  girl  burst  into  sobs,  asking  what  was  to 
become  of  them,  stammering  that  she  had  been  standing 
there  in  despair  for  the  last  ten  minutes,  but  could  see 
nobody  to  help  them,  which  was  not  surprising  with  that 
terrible  rain  falling  and  the  cold  so  bitter.  And  while  she 
stammered  all  this,  the  calls  for  help  and  the  cries  of  pain 
became  louder  in  the  depths  of  the  waste  ground. 

Though  Madame  Angelin  was  terribly  upset,  she  never- 
theless hesitated,  as  if  distrustful. 

"You  must  run  to  get  a  doctor,  my  poor  child,"  said 
she,  "  I  can  do  nothing." 

"  Oh  !  but  you  can,  madame  ;  come  with  me,  I  pray  you. 
I  don't  know  where  there's  a  doctor  to  be  found.  Come 
with  me,  and  we  will  pick  him  up,  for  I  can't  manage  it 
by  myself;  and  at  all  events  we  can  lay  him  in  the  shed,  so 
that  the  rain  sha'n't  pour  down  on  him." 

This  time  the  good  woman  consented,  so  truthful  did  the 
girl's  accents  seem  to  be.  Constant  visits  to  the  vilest 
dens,  where  crime  sprouted  from  the  dunghill  of  poverty, 
had  made  Madame  Angelin  brave.  She  was  obliged  to 
close  her  umbrella  when  she  glided  through  the  breach  in 
the  fence  in  the  wake  of  the  girl,  who,  slim  and  supple  like 
a  cat,  glided  on  in  front,  bareheaded,  in  her  ragged  shawl. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  madame,"  said  she.  "  Take  care, 
for  there  are  some  trenches.  .  .  .  It's  over  yonder  at  the 
end.  Can  you  hear  how  he's  moaning,  poor  brother  ? 
.  .  .  Ah  !  here  we  are  !  " 

Then  came  swift    and    overwhelming  savagery.       The 


FRUITFULNESS  381 

three  bandits,  Alexandre,  Richard,  and  Alfred,  who  had 
been  crouching  low,  sprang  forward  and  threw  themselves 
upon  Madame  Angelin  with  such  hungry,  wolfish  violence 
that  she  was  thrown  to  the  ground.  Alfred,  however, 
being  a  coward,  then  left  her  to  the  two  others,  and  hastened 
with  Toinette  to  the  breach  in  order  to  keep  watch. 
Alexandre,  who  had  a  handkerchief  rolled  up,  all  ready, 
thrust  it  into  the  poor  lady's  mouth  to  stifle  her  cries. 
Their  intention  was  to  stun  her  only  and  then  make  off 
with  her  little  bag. 

But  the  handkerchief  must  have  slipped  out,  for  she  sud- 
denly raised  a  shriek,  a  loud  and  terrible  shriek.  And  at 
that  moment  the  others  near  the  breach  gave  the  alarm 
whistle :  some  people  were,  doubtless,  drawing  near.  It 
was  necessary  to  finish.  Alexandre  knotted  the  handker- 
chief round  the  unhappy  woman's  neck,  while  Richard  with 
his  fist  forced  her  shriek  back  into  her  throat.  Red  mad- 
ness fell  upon  them,  they  both  began  to  twist  and  tighten 
the  handkerchief,  and  dragged  the  poor  creature  over  the 
muddy  ground  until  she  stirred  no  more.  Then,  as  the 
whistle  sounded  again,  they  took  the  bag,  left  the  body  there 
with  the  handkerchief  around  the  neck,  and  galloped,  all 
four  of  them,  as  far  as  the  Crenelle  bridge,  whence  they 
flung  the  bag  into  the  Seine,  after  greedily  thrusting  the 
coppers,  and  the  white  silver,  and  the  yellow  gold  into  their 
pockets. 

When  Mathieu  read  the  particulars  of  the  crime  in  the 
newspapers,  he  was  seized  with  fright  and  hastened  to  the 
Rue  de  la  Federation.  The  murdered  woman  had  been 
promptly  identified,  and  the  circumstance  that  the  crime 
had  been  committed  on  that  plot  of  vacant  ground  but  a 
hundred  yards  or  so  from  the  house  where  Norine  and 
Cecile  lived  upset  him,  filled  him  with  a  terrible  presentiment. 
And  he  immediately  realized  that  his  fears  were  justified 
when  he  had  to  knock  three  times  at  Norine's  door  before 
Cecile,  having  recognized  his  voice,  removed  the  articles 
with  which  it  had  been  barricaded,  and  admitted  him  inside. 
Norine  was  in  bed,  quite  ill,  and  as  white  as  her  sheets. 


382  FRUITFULNESS 

She  began  to  sob  and  shuddered  repeatedly  as  she  told  him 
the  story  :  Madame  Angelin's  visit  the  previous  month,  and 
the  sudden  arrival  of  Alexandre,  who  had  seen  the  bag  and 
had  heard  the  promise  of  further  help,  at  a  certain  hour  on 
a  certain  date.  Besides,  Norine  could  have  no  doubts,  for 
the  handkerchief  found  round  the  victim's  neck  was  one  of 
hers  which  Alexandre  had  stolen  :  a  handkerchief  embroid- 
ered with  the  initial  letters  of  her  Christian  name,  one  of 
those  cheap  fancy  things  which  are  sold  by  thousands  at  the 
big  linendrapery  establishments.  That  handkerchief,  too, 
was  the  only  clew  to  the  murderers,  and  it  was  such  a  very 
vague  one  that  the  police  were  still  vainly  seeking  the  culprits, 
quite  lost  amid  a  variety  of  scents  and  despairing  of  success. 

Mathieu  sat  near  the  bed  listening  to  Norine  and  feeling 
icy  cold.  Good  God !  that  poor,  unfortunate  Madame 
Angelin  !  He  could  picture  her  in  her  younger  days,  so 
gay  and  bright  over  yonder  at  Janville,  roaming  the  woods 
there  in  the  company  of  her  husband,  the  pair  of  them 
losing  themselves  among  the  deserted  paths,  and  lingering 
in  the  discreet  shade  of  the  pollard  willows  beside  the  Yeuse, 
where  their  love  kisses  sounded  beneath  the  branches  like 
the  twittering  of  song  birds.  And  he  could  picture  her  at 
a  later  date,  already  too  severely  punished  for  her  lack  of 
foresight,  in  despair  at  remaining  childless,  and  bowed  down 
with  grief  as  by  slow  degrees  her  husband  became  blind,  and 
night  fell  upon  the  little  happiness  yet  left  to  them.  And 
all  at  once  Mathieu  also  pictured  that  wretched  blind  man, 
on  the  evening  when  he  vainly  awaited  the  return  of  his 
wife,  in  order  that  she  might  feed  him  and  put  him  to  bed, 
old  child  that  he  was,  now  motherless,  forsaken,  forever 
alone  in  his  dark  night,  in  which  he  could  only  see  the 
bloody  spectre  of  his  murdered  helpmate.  Ah  !  to  think  of 
it,  so  bright  a  promise  of  radiant  life,  followed  by  such 
destiny,  such  death ! 

"  We  did  right,"  muttered  Mathieu,  as  his  thoughts  turned 
to  Constance,  "  we  did  right  to  keep  that  ruffian  in  ignorance 
of  his  father's  name.  What  a  terrible  thing  !  We  must 
bury  the  secret  as  deeply  as  possible  within  us." 


FRUITFULNESS  383 

Norine  shuddered  once  more. 

"  Oh  !  have  no  fear,"  she  answered,  "  I  would  die  rather 
than  speak." 

Months,  years,  flowed  by ;  and  never  did  the  police 
discover  the  murderers  of  the  lady  with  the  little  bag.  For 
years,  too,  Norine  shuddered  every  time  that  anybody 
knocked  too  roughly  at  her  door.  But  Alexandre  did  not 
reappear  there.  He  doubtless  feared  that  corner  of  the 
Rue  de  la  Federation,  and  remained  as  it  were  submerged 
in  the  dim  unsoundable  depths  of  the  ocean  of  Paris. 


XX 

DURING  the  ten  years  which  followed,  the  vigorous 
sprouting  of  the  Froments,  suggestive  of  some  healthy  vege- 
tation of  joy  and  strength,  continued  in  and  around  the 
ever  and  ever  richer  domain  of  Chantebled.  As  the  sons 
and  the  daughters  grew  up  there  came  fresh  marriages,  and 
more  and  more  children,  all  the  promised  crop,  all  the 
promised  swarming  of  a  race  of  conquerors. 

First  it  was  Gervais  who  married  Caroline  Boucher, 
daughter  of  a  big  farmer  of  the  region,  a  fair,  fine-featured, 
gay,  strong  girl,  one  of  those  superior  women  born  to  rule 
over  a  little  army  of  servants.  On  leaving  a  Parisian 
boarding-school  she  had  been  sensible  enough  to  feel  no 
shame  of  her  family's  connection  with  the  soil.  Indeed  she 
loved  the  earth  and  had  set  herself  to  win  from  it  all  the 
sterling  happiness  of  her  life.  By  way  of  dowry  she 
brought  an  expanse  of  meadow-land  in  the  direction  of 
Lillebonne,  which  enlarged  the  estate  by  some  seventy  acres. 
But  she  more  particularly  brought  her  good  humor,  her 
health,  her  courage  in  rising  early,  in  watching  over  the 
farmyard,  the  dairy,  the  whole  home,  like  an  energetic 
active  housewife,  who  was  ever  bustling  about,  and  always 
the  last  to  bed. 

Then  came  the  turn  of  Claire,  whose  marriage  with 
Frederic  Berthaud,  long  since  foreseen,  ended  by  taking  place. 
There  were  tears  of  soft  emotion,  for  the  memory  of  her 
whom  Berthaud  had  loved  and  whom  he  was  to  have  mar- 
ried disturbed  several  hearts  on  the  wedding  day  when  the 
family  skirted  the  little  cemetery  of  Janville  as  it  returned 
to  the  farm  from  the  municipal  offices.  But,  after  all,  did 
not  that  love  of  former  days,  that  faithful  fellow's  long 

384 


FRUITFULNESS  385 

affection,  which  in  time  had  become  transferred  to  the 
younger  sister,  constitute  as  it  were  another  link  in  the 
ties  which  bound  him  to  the  Froments  ?  He  had  no 
fortune,  he  brought  with  him  only  his  constant  faithfulness, 
and  the  fraternity  which  had  sprung  up  between  himself  and 
Gervais  during  the  many  seasons  when  they  had  ploughed 
the  estate  like  a  span  of  tireless  oxen  drawing  the  same 
plough.  His  heart  was  one  that  could  never  be  doubted, 
he  was  the  helper  who  had  become  indispensable,  the  hus- 
band whose  advent  would  mean  the  best  of  all  understand- 
ings and  absolute  certainty  of  happiness. 

From  the  day  of  that  wedding  the  government  of  the 
farm  was  finally  settled.  Though  Mathieu  was  barely 
five-and-fifty  he  abdicated,  and  transferred  his  authority  to 
Gervais,  that  son  of  the  earth  as  with  a  laugh  he  often 
called  him,  the  first  of  his  children  born  at  Chantebled,  the 
one  who  had  never  left  the  farm,  and  who  had  at  all  times 
given  him  the  support  of  his  arm  and  his  brain  and  his 
heart.  And  now  Frederic  in  turn  would  think  and  strive 
as  Gervais's  devoted  lieutenant,  in  the  great  common  task. 
Between  them  henceforth  they  would  continue  the  father's 
work,  and  perfect  the  system  of  culture,  procuring  appli- 
ances of  new  design  from  the  Beauchene  works,  now  ruled 
by  Denis,  and  ever  drawing  from  the  soil  the  largest  crops 
that  it  could  be  induced  to  yield.  Their  wives  had  likewise 
divided  their  share  of  authority ;  Claire  surrendered  the 
duties  of  supervision  to  Caroline,  who  was  stronger  and 
more  active  than  herself,  and  was  content  to  attend  to  the 
accounts,  the  turnover  of  considerable  sums  of  money,  all 
that  was  paid  away  and  all  that  was  received.  The  two 
couples  seemed  to  have  been  expressly  and  cleverly  selected 
to  complete  one  another  and  to  accomplish  the  greatest  sum 
of  work  without  ever  the  slightest  fear  of  conflict.  And, 
indeed,  they  lived  in  perfect  union,  with  only  one  will 
among  them,  one  purpose  which  was  ever  more  and  more 
skilfully  effected  —  the  continual  increase  of  the  happiness 
and  wealth  of  Chantebled  under  the  beneficent  sun. 

At  the  same  time,  if  Mathieu  had  renounced  the  actual 


j86  FRUITFULNESS 

exercise  of  authority,  he  none  the  less  remained  the  creator, 
the  oracle  who  was  consulted,  listened  to,  and  obeyed.  He 
dwelt  with  Marianne  in  the  old  shooting-box  which  had 
been  transformed  and  enlarged  into  a  very  comfortable 
house.  Here  they  lived  like  the  founders  of  a  dynasty  who 
had  retired  in  full  glory,  setting  their  only  delight  in  behold- 
ing around  them  the  development  and  expansion  of  their 
race,  the  birth  and  growth  of  their  children's  children. 
Leaving  Claire  and  Gervais  on  one  side,  there  were  as  yet 
only  Denis  and  Ambroise  —  the  first  to  wing  their  flight 
abroad  —  engaged  in  building  up  their  fortunes  in  Paris. 
The  three  girls,  Louise,  Madeleine,  and  Marguerite,  who 
would  soon  be  old  enough  to  marry,  still  dwelt  in  the  happy 
home  beside  their  parents,  as  well  as  the  three  youngest 
boys,  Gregoire,  the  free  lance,  Nicolas,  the  most  stubborn 
and  determined  of  the  brood,  and  Benjamin,  who  was  of  a 
dreamy  nature.  All  these  finished  growing  up  at  the  edge 
of  the  nest,  so  to  say,  with  the  window  of  life  open  before 
them,  ready  for  the  day  when  they  likewise  would  take 
wing. 

With  them  dwelt  Charlotte,  Blaise's  widow,  and  her  two 
children,  Berthe  and  Guillaume,  the  three  of  them  occupy- 
ing an  upper  floor  of  the  house  where  the  mother  had  in- 
stalled her  studio.  She  was  becoming  rich  since  her  little 
share  in  the  factory  profits,  stipulated  by  Denis,  had  been 
increasing  year  by  year ;  but  nevertheless,  she  continued 
working  for  her  dealer  in  miniatures.  This  work  brought 
her  pocket-money,  she  gayly  said,  and  would  enable  her  to 
make  her  children  a  present  whenever  they  might  marry. 
There  was,  indeed,  already  some  thought  of  Berthe  marry- 
ing ;  and  assuredly  she  would  be  the  first  of  Mathieu  and 
Marianne's  grandchildren  to  enter  into  the  state  of  matri- 
mony. They  smiled  softly  at  the  idea  of  becoming  great- 
grandparents  before  very  long  perhaps. 

After  the  lapse  of  four  years,  Gregoire,  first  of  the  younger 
children,  flew  away.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  trouble, 
quite  a  little  drama  in  connection  with  the  affair,  which 
Mathieu  and  Marianne  had  for  some  time  been  anticipat- 


FRUITFULNESS  387 

ing.  Gregoire  was  anything  but  reasonable.  Short,  but 
robust,  with  a  pert  face  in  which  glittered  the  brightest  of 
eyes,  he  had  always  been  the  turbulent  member  of  the 
family,  the  one  who  caused  the  most  anxiety.  His  child- 
hood had  been  spent  in  playing  truant  in  the  woods  of 
Janville,  and  he  had  afterwards  made  a  mere  pretence  of 
studying  in  Paris,  returning  home  full  of  health  and  spirits, 
but  unable  or  unwilling  to  make  up  his  mind  with  respect 
to  any  particular  trade  or  profession.  Already  four-and- 
twenty,  he  knew  little  more  than  how  to  shoot  and  fish, 
and  trot  about  the  country  on  horseback.  He  was  cer- 
tainly not  more  stupid  or  less  active  than  another,  but  he 
seemed  bent  on  living  and  amusing  himself  according  to  his 
fancy.  The  worst  was  that  for  some  months  past  all  the 
gossips  of  Janville  had  been  relating  that  he  had  renewed 
his  former  boyish  friendship  with  Therese  Lepailleur,  the 
miller's  daughter,  and  that  they  were  to  be  met  of  an 
evening  in  shady  nooks  under  the  pollard-willows  by  the 
Yeuse. 

One  morning  Mathieu,  wishing  to  ascertain  if  the  young 
coveys  of  partridges  were  plentiful  in  the  direction  of 
Mareuil,  took  Gregoire  with  him  ;  and  when  they  found 
themselves  alone  among  the  plantations  of  the  plateau,  he 
began  to  talk  to  him  seriously. 

"You  know  I'm  not  pleased  with  you,  my  lad,"  said  he. 
"  I  really  cannot  understand  the  idle  life  which  you  lead 
here,  while  all  the  rest  of  us  are  hard  at  work.  I  shall 
wait  till  October  since  you  have  positively  promised  me 
that  you  will  then  come  to  a  decision  and  choose  the  call- 
ing which  you  most  fancy.  But  what  is  all  this  tittle-tattle 
which  I  hear  about  appointments  which  you  keep  with  the 
daughter  of  the  Lepailleurs  ?  Do  you  wish  to  cause  us 
serious  worry  ? " 

Gregoire  quietly  began  to  laugh. 

"  Oh,  father  !  You  are  surely  not  going  to  scold  a  son 
of  yours  because  he  happens  to  be  on  friendly  terms  with 
a  pretty  girl !  Why,  as  you  may  remember,  it  was  I  who 
gave  her  her  first  bicycle  lesson  nearly  ten  years  ago.  And 


j88  FRUITFULNESS 

you  will  recollect  the  fine  white  roses  which  she  helped  me 
to  secure  in  the  enclosure  by  the  mill  for  Denis'  wedding." 

Gregoire  still  laughed  at  the  memory  of  that  incident, 
and  lived  afresh  through  all  his  old  time  sweethearting  — 
the  escapades  with  Therese  along  the  river  banks,  and  the 
banquets  of  blackberries  in  undiscoverable  hiding-places, 
deep  in  the  woods.  And  it  seemed,  too,  that  the  love  of 
childhood  had  revived,  and  was  now  bursting  into  consum- 
ing fire,  so  vividly  did  his  cheeks  glow,  and  so  hotly  did  his 
eyes  blaze  as  he  thus  recalled  those  distant  times. 

"  Poor  Therese !  We  had  been  at  daggers  drawn  for 
years,  and  all  because  one  evening,  on  coming  back  from 
the  fair  at  Vieux-Bourg,  I  pushed  her  into  a  pool  of  water 
where  she  dirtied  her  frock.  It's  true  that  last  spring  we 
made  it  up  again  on  finding  ourselves  face  to  face  in  the 
little  wood  at  Monval  over  yonder.  But  come,  father,  do 
you  mean  to  say  that  it's  a  crime  if  we  take  a  little  pleasure 
in  speaking  to  one  another  when  we  meet  ?  " 

Rendered  the  more  anxious  by  the  fire  with  which  Gre- 
goire sought  to  defend  the  girl,  Mathieu  spoke  out  plainly. 

"  A  crime  ?  No,  if  you  just  wish  one  another  good  day 
and  good  evening.  Only  folks  relate  that  you  are  to  be 
seen  at  dusk  with  your  arms  round  each  other's  waist,  and 
that  you  go  stargazing  through  the  grass  alongside  the 
Yeuse." 

Then,  as  Gregoire  this  time  without  replying  laughed 
yet  more  loudly,  with  the  merry  laugh  of  youth,  his  father 
gravely  resumed  : 

"  Listen,  my  lad,  it  is  not  at  all  to  my  taste  to  play  the 
gendarme  behind  my  sons.  But  I  won't  have  you  drawing 
some  unpleasant  business  with  the  Lepailleurs  on  us  all. 
You  know  the  position,  they  would  be  delighted  to  give  us 
trouble.  So  don't  give  them  occasion  for  complaining, 
leave  their  daughter  alone." 

"  Oh  !  I  take  plenty  of  care,"  cried  the  young  man,  thus 
suddenly  confessing  the  truth.  "  Poor  girl !  She  has 
already  had  her  ears  boxed  because  somebody  told  her 
father  that  I  had  been  met  with  her.  He  answered  that 


FRUITFULNESS  389 

rather  than  give  her  to  me  he  would  throw  her  into  the 
river." 

"  Ah !  you  see,"  concluded  Mathieu.  "  It  is  under- 
stood, is  it  not  ?  I  shall  rely  on  your  good  behavior." 

Thereupon  they  went  their  way,  scouring  the  fields  as 
far  as  the  road  to  Mareuil.  Coveys  of  young  partridges, 
still  weak  on  the  wing,  started  up  both  to  the  right  and 
to  the  left.  The  shooting  would  be  good.  Then  as  the 
father  and  the  son  turned  homeward,  slackening  their  pace, 
a  long  spell  of  silence  fell  between  them.  They  were  both 
reflecting. 

"  I  don't  wish  that  there  should  be  any  misunderstanding 
between  us,"  Mathieu  suddenly  resumed ;  "  you  must  not 
imagine  that  I  shall  prevent  you  from  marrying  according 
to  your  tastes  and  that  I  shall  require  you  to  take  an  heiress. 
Our  poor  Blaise  married  a  portionless  girl.  And  it  was 
the  same  with  Denis ;  besides  which  I  gave  your  sister, 
Claire,  in  marriage  to  Frederic,  who  was  simply  one  of  our 
farm  hands.  So  I  don't  look  down  on  Therese.  On  the 
contrary,  I  think  her  charming.  She's  one  of  the  prettiest 
girls  of  the  district  —  not  tall,  certainly,  but  so  alert  and 
determined,  with  her  little  pink  face  shining  under  such  a 
wild  crop  of  fair  hair,  that  one  might  think  her  powdered 
with  all  the  flour  in  the  mill." 

"  Yes,  isn't  that  so,  father  ? "  interrupted  Gregoire 
enthusiastically.  "  And  if  you  only  knew  how  affectionate 
and  courageous  she  is  !  She's  worth  a  man  any  day.  It's 
wrong  of  them  to  smack  her,  for  she  will  never  put  up 
with  it.  Whenever  she  sets  her  mind  on  anything  she's 
bound  to  do  it,  and  it  isn't  I  who  can  prevent  her." 

Absorbed  in  some  reflections  of  his  own,  Mathieu  scarcely 
heard  his  son. 

"  No,  no,"  he  resumed ;  "  I  certainly  don't  look  down 
on  their  mill.  If  it  were  not  for  Lepailleur's  stupid  obsti- 
nacy he  would  be  drawing  a  fortune  from  that  mill  nowa- 
days. Since  corn-growing  has  again  been  taken  up  all  over 
the  district,  thanks  to  our  victory,  he  might  have  got  a  good 
pile  of  crowns  together  if  he  had  simply  changed  the  old 


39o  FRUITFULNESS 

mechanism  of  his  wheel  which  he  leaves  rotting  under  the 
moss.  And  better  still,  I  should  like  to  see  a  good  engine 
there,  and  a  bit  of  a  light  railway  line  connecting  the  mill 
with  Janville  station." 

In  this  fashion  he  continued  explaining  his  ideas  while 
Gregoire  listened,  again  quite  lively  and  taking  things  in  a 
jesting  way. 

"  Well,  father,"  the  young  man  ended  by  saying,  "  as 
you  wish  that  I  should  have  a  calling,  it's  settled.  If  I 
marry  Therese,  I'll  be  a  miller." 

Mathieu  protested  in  surprise  :  "  No,  no,  I  was  merely 
talking.  And  besides,  you  have  promised  me,  my  lad,  that 
you  will  be  reasonable.  So  once  again,  for  the  sake  of  the 
peace  and  quietness  of  all  of  us,  leave  Therese  alone,  for 
we  can  only  expect  to  reap  worry  with  the  Lepailleurs." 

The  conversation  ceased  and  they  returned  to  the  farm. 
That  evening,  however,  the  father  told  the  mother  of  the 
young  man's  confession,  and  she,  who  already  entertained 
various  misgivings,  felt  more  anxious  than  ever.  Still  a 
month  went  by  without  anything  serious  happening. 

Then,  one  morning  Marianne  was  astounded  at  finding 
Gregoire's  bedroom  empty.  As  a  rule  he  came  to  kiss  her. 
Perhaps  he  had  risen  early,  and  had  gone  on  some  excur- 
sion in  the  environs.  But  she  trembled  slightly  when  she 
remembered  how  lovingly  he  had  twice  caught  her  in  his 
arms  on  the  previous  night  when  they  were  all  retiring  to 
bed.  And  as  she  looked  inquisitively  round  the  room  she 
noticed  on  the  mantelshelf  a  letter  addressed  to  her  —  a 
prettily  worded  letter  in  which  the  young  fellow  begged  her 
to  forgive  him  for  causing  her  grief,  and  asked  her  to  excuse 
him  with  his  father,  for  it  was  necessary  that  he  should 
leave  them  for  a  time.  Of  his  reasons  for  doing  so  and 
his  purpose,  however,  no  particulars  were  given. 

This  family  rending,  this  bad  conduct  on  the  part  of  the 
son  who  had  been  the  most  spoilt  of  all,  and  who,  in  a  fit 
of  sudden  folly  was  the  first  to  break  the  ties  which  united 
the  household  together,  was  a  very  painful  blow  for  Mari- 
anne and  Mathieu.  They  were  the  more  terrified  since 


FRUITFULNESS  391 

they  divined  that  Gregoire  had  not  gone  off  alone.  They 
pieced  together  the  incidents  of  the  deplorable  affair.  Char- 
lotte remembered  that  she  had  heard  Gregoire  go  down- 
stairs again,  almost  immediately  after  entering  his  bedroom, 
and  before  the  servants  had  even  bolted  the  house-doors  for 
the  night.  He  had  certainly  rushed  off  to  join  Therese  in 
some  coppice,  whence  they  must  have  hurried  away  to 
Vieux-Bourg  station  which  the  last  train  to  Paris  quitted  at 
five-and-twenty  minutes  past  midnight.  And  it  was  indeed 
this  which  had  taken  place.  At  noon  the  Froments  already 
learnt  that  Lepailleur  was  creating  a  terrible  scandal  about 
the  flight  of  Therese.  He  had  immediately  gone  to  the 
gendarmes  to  shout  the  story  to  them,  and  demand  that 
they  should  bring  the  guilty  hussy  back,  chained  to  her 
accomplice,  and  both  of  them  with  gyves  about  their  wrists. 

He  on  his  side  had  found  a  letter  in  his  daughter's  bed- 
room, a  plucky  letter  in  which  she  plainly  said  that  as  she 
had  been  struck  again  the  previous  day,  she  had  had  enough 
of  it,  and  was  going  off  of  her  own  free  will.  Indeed,  she 
added  that  she  was  taking  Gregoire  with  her,  and  was  quite 
big  and  old  enough,  now  that  she  was  two-and-twenty,  to 
know  what  she  was  about.  Lepailleur's  fury  was  largely 
due  to  this  letter  which  he  did  not  dare  to  show  abroad ; 
besides  which,  his  wife,  ever  at  war  with  him  respecting 
their  son  Antonin,  not  only  roundly  abused  Therese,  but 
sneeringly  declared  that  it  might  all  have  been  expected, 
and  that  he,  the  father,  was  the  cause  of  the  gad-about's 
misconduct.  After  that,  they  engaged  in  fisticuffs ;  and 
for  a  whole  week  the  district  did  nothing  but  talk  about  the 
flight  of  one  of  the  Chantebled  lads  with  the  girl  of  the 
mill,  to  the  despair  of  Mathieu  and  Marianne,  the  latter  of 
whom  in  particular  grieved  over  the  sorry  business. 

Five  days  later,  a  Sunday,  matters  became  even  worse. 
As  the  search  for  the  runaways  remained  fruitless  Lepail- 
leur, boiling  over  with  rancor,  went  up  to  the  farm,  and 
from  the  middle  of  the  road  —  for  he  did  not  venture 
inside  —  poured  forth  a  flood  of  ignoble  insults.  It  so 
happened  that  Mathieu  was  absent ;  and  Marianne  had 


FRUITFULNESS 

great  trouble  to  restrain  Gervais  as  well  as  Frederic,  both 
of  whom  wished  to  thrust  the  miller's  scurrilous  language 
back  into  his  throat.  When  Mathieu  came  home  in  the 
evening  he  was  extremely  vexed  to  hear  of  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  this  state  of  things  to  continue," 
he  said  to  his  wife,  as  they  were  retiring  to  rest.  u  It  looks 
as  if  we  were  hiding,  as  if  we  were  guilty  in  the  matter.  I 
will  go  to  see  that  man  in  the  morning.  There  is  only 
one  thing,  and  a  very  simple  one,  to  be  done,  those  un- 
happy children  must  be  married.  For  our  part  we  con- 
sent, is  it  not  so  ?  And  it  is  to  that  man's  advantage  to 
consent  also.  To-morrow  the  matter  must  be  settled." 

On  the  following  day,  Monday,  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  Mathieu  set  out  for  the  mill.  But  certain  com- 
plications, a  tragic  drama,  which  he  could  not  possibly 
foresee,  awaited  him  there.  For  years  now  a  stubborn 
struggle  had  been  going  on  between  Lepailleur  and  his 
wife  with  respect  to  Antonin.  While  the  farmer  had 
grown  more  and  more  exasperated  with  his  son's  idleness 
and  life  of  low  debauchery  in  Paris,  the  latter  had  sup- 
ported her  boy  with  all  the  obstinacy  of  an  illiterate  woman, 
who  was  possessed  of  a  blind  faith  in  his  fine  handwriting, 
and  felt  convinced  that  if  he  did  not  succeed  in  life  it  was 
simply  because  he  was  refused  the  money  necessary  for 
that  purpose.  In  spite  of  her  sordid  avarice  in  some  mat- 
ters, the  old  woman  continued  bleeding  herself  for  her 
son,  and  even  robbed  the  house,  promptly  thrusting  out 
her  claws  and  setting  her  teeth  ready  to  bite  whenever  she 
was  caught  in  the  act,  and  had  to  defend  some  twenty- 
franc  piece  or  other,  which  she  had  been  on  the  point  of 
sending  away.  And  each  time  the  battle  began  afresh,  to 
such  a  point  indeed  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  shaky  old  mill 
would  some  day  end  by  falling  on  their  heads. 

Then,  all  at  once,  Antonin,  a  perfect  wreck  at  thirty-six 
years  of  age,  fell  seriously  ill.  Lepailleur  forthwith  de- 
clared that  if  the  scamp  had  the  audacity  to  come  home  he 
would  pitch  him  over  the  wheel  into  the  water.  Antonin, 


FRUITFULNESS  393 

however,  had  no  desire  to  return  home  ;  he  held  the  coun- 
try in  horror  and  feared,  too,  that  his  father  might  chain 
him  up  like  a  dog.  So  his  mother  placed  him  with  some 
people  of  Batignolles,  paying  for  his  board  and  for  the 
attendance  of  a  doctor  of  the  district.  This  had  been 
going  on  for  three  months  or  so,  and  every  fortnight  La 
Lepailleur  went  to  see  her  son.  She  had  done  so  the 
previous  Thursday,  and  on  the  Sunday  evening  she  received 
a  telegram  summoning  her  to  Batignolles  again.  Thus, 
on  the  morning  of  the  day  when  Mathieu  repaired  to  the 
mill,  she  had  once  more  gone  to  Paris  after  a  frightful 
quarrel  with  her  husband,  who  asked  if  their  good-for-noth- 
ing son  ever  meant  to  cease  fooling  them  and  spending 
their  money,  when  he  had  not  the  courage  even  to  turn 
a  spit  of  earth. 

Alone  in  the  mill  that  morning  Lepailleur  did  not  cease 
storming.  At  the  slightest  provocation  he  would  have 
hammered  his  plough  to  pieces,  or  have  rushed,  axe  in 
hand,  and  mad  with  hatred,  on  the  old  wheel  by  way  of 
avenging  his  misfortunes.  When  he  saw  Mathieu  come 
in  he  believed  in  some  act  of  bravado,  and  almost  choked. 

"  Come,  neighbor,"  said  the  master  of  Chantebled  cor- 
dially, "  let  us  both  try  to  be  reasonable.  I've  come  to 
return  your  visit,  since  you  called  upon  me  yesterday. 
Only,  bad  words  never  did  good  work,  and  the  best  course, 
since  this  misfortune  has  happened,  is  to  repair  it  as 
speedily  as  possible.  When  would  you  have  us  marry  off 
those  bad  children  ?  " 

Thunderstruck  by  the  quiet  good  nature  of  this  frontal 
attack,  Lepailleur  did  not  immediately  reply.  He  had 
shouted  over  the  house  roofs  that  he  would  have  no  mar- 
riage at  all,  but  rather  a  good  lawsuit  by  way  of  sending 
all  the  Froments  to  prison.  Nevertheless,  when  it  came 
to  reflection,  a  son  of  the  big  farmer  of  Chantebled  was 
not  to  be  disdained  as  a  son-in-law. 

"  Marry  them,  marry  them,"  he  stammered  at  the  first 
moment.  "  Yes,  by  fastening  a  big  stone  to  both  their 
necks  and  throwing  them  together  into  the  river.  Ah! 


394  FRUITFULNESS 

the  wretches  !  I'll  skin  them,  I  wil),  her  as  well  as 
him." 

At  last,  however,  the  miller  grew  calmer  and  was  even 
showing  a  disposition  to  discuss  matters,  when  all  at  once 
an  urchin  of  Janville  came  running  across  the  yard. 

"  What  do  you  want,  eh  ?  "  called  the  master  of  the 
premises. 

"  Please,  Monsieur  Lepailleur,  it's  a  telegram." 

"  All  right,  give  it  here." 

The  lad,  well  pleased  with  the  copper  he  received  as  a 
gratuity,  had  already  gone  off,  and  still  the  miller,  instead 
of  opening  the  telegram,  stood  examining  the  address  on 
it  with  the  distrustful  air  of  a  man  who  does  not  often 
receive  such  communications.  -However,  he  at  last  had  to 
tear  it  open.  It  contained  but  three  words  :  "  Your  son 
dead " ;  and  in  that  brutal  brevity,  that  prompt,  hasty 
bludgeon-blow,  one  could  detect  the  mother's  cold  rage 
and  eager  craving  to  crush  without  delay  the  man,  the 
father  yonder,  whom  she  accused  of  having  caused  her 
son's  death,  even  as  she  had  accused  him  of  being  respon- 
sible for  her  daughter's  flight.  He  felt  this  full  well,  and 
staggered  beneath  the  shock,  stunned  by  the  words  that 
appeared  on  that  strip  of  blue  paper,  reading  them  again 
and  again  till  he  ended  by  understanding  them.  Then  his 
hands  began  to  tremble  and  he  burst  into  oaths. 

"  Thunder  and  blazes  !  What  again  is  this  ?  Here's 
the  boy  dying  now  !  Everything's  going  to  the  devil ! " 

But  his  heart  dilated  and  tears  appeared  in  his  eyes. 
Unable  to  remain  standing,  he  sank  upon  a  chair  and 
again  obstinately  read  the  telegram  ;  "  Your  son  dead  — 
Your  son  dead,"  as  if  seeking  something  else,  the  particu- 
lars, indeed,  which  the  message  did  not  contain.  Perhaps 
the  boy  had  died  before  his  mother's  arrival.  Or  perhaps 
she  had  arrived  just  before  he  died.  Such  were  his  stam- 
mered comments.  And  he  repeated  a  score  of  times  that 
she  had  taken  the  train  at  ten  minutes  past  eleven  and 
must  have  reached  Batignolles  about  half-past  twelve.  As 
she  had  handed  in  the  telegram  at  twenty  minutes  past  one 


FRUITFULNESS  395 

it  seemed  more  likely  that  she  had  found  the  lad  already 
dead. 

"  Curse  it !  curse  it !  "  he  shouted  ;  "  a  cursed  telegram, 
it  tells  you  nothing,  and  it  murders  you !  She  might,  at  all 
events,  have  sent  somebody.  I  shall  have  to  go  there.  Ah  ! 
the  whole  thing's  complete,  it's  more  than  a  man  can  bear !  " 

Lepailleur  shouted  those  words  in  such  accents  of  rage- 
ful  despair  that  Mathieu,  full  of  compassion,  made  bold  to 
intervene.  The  sudden  shock  of  the  tragedy  had  staggered 
him,  and  he  had  hitherto  waited  in  silence.  But  now  he 
offered  his  services  and  spoke  of  accompanying  the  other 
to  Paris.  He  had  to  retreat,  however,  for  the  miller  rose 
to  his  feet,  seized  with  wild  exasperation  at  perceiving  him 
still  there  in  his  house. 

"  Ah  !  yes,  you  came ;  and  what  was  it  you  were  saying 
to  me  ?  That  we  ought  to  marry  off  those  wretched  chil- 
dren ?  Well,  you  can  see  that  I'm  in  proper  trim  for 
a  wedding  !  My  boy's  dead  !  You've  chosen  your  day 
well.  Be  off  with  you,  be  off  with  you,  I  say,  if  you  don't 
want  me  to  do  something  dreadful !  " 

He  raised  his  fists,  quite  maddened  as  he  was  by  the 
presence  of  Mathieu  at  that  moment  when  his  whole  life 
was  wrecked.  It  was  terrible  indeed  that  this  bourgeois  who 
had  made  a  fortune  by  turning  himself  into  a  peasant  should 
be  there  at  the  moment  when  he  so  suddenly  learnt  the 
death  of  Antonin,  that  son  whom  he  had  dreamt  of  turning 
into  a  Monsieur  by  filling  his  mind  with  disgust  of  the  soil 
and  sending  him  to  rot  of  idleness  and  vice  in  Paris  !  It 
enraged  him  to  find  that  he  had  erred,  that  the  earth  whom 
he  had  slandered,  whom  he  had  taxed  with  decrepitude  and 
barrenness  was  really  a  living,  youthful,  and  fruitful  spouse 
to  the  man  who  knew  how  to  love  her  !  And  nought  but 
ruin  remained  around  him,  thanks  to  his  imbecile  resolve  to 
limit  his  family  :  a  foul  life  had  killed  his  only  son,  and  his 
only  daughter  had  gone  off  with  a  scion  of  the  triumphant 
farm,  while  he  was  now  utterly  alone,  weeping  and  howling 
in  his  deserted  mill,  that  mill  which  he  had  likewise  disdained 
and  which  was  crumbling  around  him  with  old  age. 


396  FRUITFULNESS 

"  You  hear  me  !  "  he  shouted.  "  Therese  may  drag 
herself  at  my  feet ;  but  I  will  never,  never  give  her  to  your 
thief  of  a  son !  You'd  like  it,  wouldn't  you  ?  so  that 
folks  might  mock  me  all  over  the  district,  and  so  that  you 
might  eat  me  up  as  you  have  eaten  up  all  the  others  !  " 

This  finish  to  it  all  had  doubtless  appeared  to  him,  con- 
fusedly, in  a  sudden  threatening  vision  :  Antonin  being 
dead,  it  was  Gregoire  who  would  possess  the  mill,  if  he 
should  marry  Therese.  And  he  would  possess  the  moor- 
land also,  that  enclosure,  hitherto  left  barren  with  such 
savage  delight,  and  so  passionately  coveted  by  the  farm. 
And  doubtless  he  would  cede  it  to  the  farm  as  soon  as  he 
should  be  the  master.  The  thought  that  Chantebled  might 
yet  be  increased  by  the  fields  which  he,  Lepailleur,  had 
withheld  from  it  brought  the  miller's  delirious  rage  to  a 
climax. 

"  Your  son,  I'll  send  him  to  the  galleys  !  And  you,  if 
you  don't  go,  I'll  throw  you  out !  Be  off  with  you, 
be  off!  " 

Mathieu,  who  was  very  pale,  slowly  retired  before  this 
furious  madman.  But  as  he  went  off  he  calmly  said  : 
"  You  are  an  unhappy  man.  I  forgive  you,  for  you  are  in 
great  grief.  Besides,  I  am  quite  easy,  sensible  things 
always  end  by  taking  place." 

Again,  a  month  went  by.  Then,  one  rainy  morning  in 
October,  Madame  Lepailleur  was  found  hanging  in  the  mill 
stable.  There  were  folks  at  Janville  who  related  that  Lepail- 
leur had  hung  her  there.  The  truth  was  that  she  had  given 
signs  of  melancholia  ever  since  the  death  of  Antonin.  More- 
over, the  life  led  at  the  mill  was  no  longer  bearable ;  day 
by  day  the  husband  and  wife  reproached  one  another  for 
their  son's  death  and  their  daughter's  flight,  battling  rage- 
fully  together  like  two  abandoned  beasts  shut  up  in  the 
same  cage.  Folks  were  merely  astonished  that  such  a 
harsh,  avaricious  woman  should  have  been  willing  to  quit 
this  life  without  taking  her  goods  and  chattels  with  her. 

As  soon  as  Therese  heard  of  her  mother's  death  she  hast- 
ened home,  repentant,  and  took  her  place  beside  her  father 


FRUITFULNESS  397 

again,  unwilling  as  she  was  that  he  should  remain  alone  in 
his  two-fold  bereavement.  At  first  it  proved  a  terrible  time 
for  her  in  the  company  of  that  brutal  old  man  who  was 
exasperated  by  what  he  termed  his  bad  luck.  But  she  was 
a  girl  of  sterling  courage  and  prompt  decision ;  and  thus, 
after  a  few  weeks,  she  had  made  her  father  consent  to  her 
marriage  with  Gregoire,  which,  as  Mathieu  had  said,  was 
the  only  sensible  course.  The  news  gave  great  relief  at  the 
farm  whither  the  prodigal  son  had  not  yet  dared  to  return. 
It  was  believed  that  the  young  couple,  after  eloping  together, 
had  lived  in  some  out  of  the  way  district  of  Paris,  and  it 
was  even  suspected  that  Ambroise,  who  was  liberally 
minded,  had,  in  a  brotherly  way,  helped  them  with  his 
purse.  And  if,  on  the  one  hand,  Lepailleur  consented  to 
the  marriage  in  a  churlish,  distrustful  manner  —  like  one 
who  deemed  himself  robbed,  and  was  simply  influenced  by 
the  egotistical  dread  of  some  day  finding  himself  quite  alone 
again  in  his  gloomy  house  —  Mathieu  and  Marianne,  on 
the  other  side,  were  delighted  with  an  arrangement  which 
put  an  end  to  an  equivocal  situation  that  had  caused  them 
the  greatest  suffering,  grieved  as  they  were  by  the  rebellion 
of  one  of  their  children. 

Curiously  enough,  it  came  to  pass  that  Gregoire,  once 
married  and  installed  at  the  mill  in  accordance  with  his 
wife's  desire,  agreed  with  his  father-in-law  far  better  than 
had  been  anticipated.  This  resulted  in  particular  from  a 
certain  discussion  during  which  Lepailleur  had  wished  to 
make  Gregoire  swear,  that,  after  his  death,  he  would  never 
dispose  of  the  moorland  enclosure,  hitherto  kept  unculti- 
vated with  peasant  stubbornness,  to  any  of  his  brothers  or 
sisters  of  the  farm.  Gregoire  took  no  oath  on  the  subject, 
but  gayly  declared  that  he  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  despoil 
his  wife  of  the  best  part  of  her  inheritance,  particularly  as 
he  proposed  to  cultivate  those  moors  and,  within  two  or 
three  years'  time,  make  them  the  most  fertile  land  in  the 
district.  That  which  belonged  to  him  did  not  belong  to 
others,  and  people  would  soon  see  that  he  was  well  able  to 
defend  the  property  which  had  fallen  to  his  lot.  Things 


398  FRUITFULNESS 

took  a  similar  course  with  respect  to  the  mill,  where  Gre- 
goire  at  first  contented  himself  with  repairing  the  old 
mechanism,  for  he  was  unwilling  to  upset  the  miller's 
habits  all  at  once,  and  therefore  postponed  until  some 
future  time  the  installation  of  an  engine,  and  the  laying 
down  of  a  line  of  rails  to  Janville  station  —  all  those  ideas 
formerly  propounded  by  Mathieu  which  henceforth  fer- 
mented in  his  audacious  young  mind. 

In  this  wise,  then,  people  found  themselves  in  presence 
of  a  new  Gregoire.  The  madcap  had  become  wise,  only 
retaining  of  his  youthful  follies  the  audacity  which  is  need- 
ful for  successful  enterprise.  And  it  must  be  said  that  he 
was  admirably  seconded  by  the  fair  and  energetic  Therese. 
They  were  both  enraptured  at  now  being  free  to  love  each 
other  in  the  romantic  old  mill,  garlanded  with  ivy,  pending 
the  time  when  they  would  resolutely  fling  it  to  the  ground 
to  install  in  its  place  the  great  white  meal  stores  and  huge 
new  mill-stones,  which,  with  their  conquering  ambition, 
they  often  dreamt  of. 

During  the  years  that  followed,  Mathieu  and  Marianne 
witnessed  other  departures.  The  three  daughters,  Louise, 
Madeleine,  and  Marguerite,  in  turn  took  their  flight  from 
the  family  nest.  All  three  found  husbands  in  the  district. 
Louise,  a  plump  brunette,  all  gayety  and  health,  with  abun- 
dant hair  and  large  laughing  eyes,  married  notary  Mazaud 
of  Janville,  a  quiet,  pensive  little  man,  whose  occasional 
silent  smiles  alone  denoted  the  perfect  satisfaction  which 
he  felt  at  having  found  a  wife  of  such  joyous  disposition. 
Then  Madeleine,  whose  chestnut  tresses  were  tinged  with 
gleaming  gold,  and  who  was  slimmer  than  her  sister,  and 
of  a  more  dreamy  style  of  beauty,  her  character  and  dis- 
position refined  by  her  musical  tastes,  made  a  love  match 
which  was  quite  a  romance.  Herbette,  the  architect,  who 
became  her  husband,  was  a  handsome,  elegant  man,  already 
celebrated  ;  he  owned  near  Monvel  a  park-like  estate,  where 
he  came  to  rest  at  times  from  the  fatigue  of  his  labors  in 
Paris. 

At  last,  Marguerite,  the  least  pretty  of  the  girls  —  indeed, 


FRUITFULNESS  399 

she  was  quite  plain,  but  derived  a  charm  from  her  infinite 
goodness  of  heart  —  was  chosen  in  marriage  by  Dr.  Cham- 
bouvet,  a  big,  genial,  kindly  fellow,  who  had  inherited  his 
father's  practice  at  Vieux-Bourg,  where  he  lived  in  a  large 
white  house,  which  had  become  the  resort  of  the  poor. 
And  thus  the  three  girls  being  married,  the  only  ones  who 
remained  with  Mathieu  and  Marianne  in  the  slowly 
emptying  nest  were  'their  two  last  boys,  Nicolas  and 
Benjamin. 

At  the  same  time,  however,  as  the  youngsters  flew  away 
and  installed  themselves  elsewhere,  there  came  other  little 
ones,  a  constant  swarming  due  to  the  many  family  marriages. 
In  eight  years,  Denis,  who  reigned  at  the  factory  in  Paris, 
had  been  presented  by  his  wife  with  three  children,  two 
boys,  Lucien  and  Paul,  and  a  girl,  Hortense.  Then  Leonce, 
the  son  of  Ambroise,  who  was  conquering  such  a  high 
position  in  the  commercial  world,  now  had  a  brother, 
Charles,  and  two  little  sisters,  Pauline  and  Sophie.  At 
the  farm,  moreover,  Gervais  was  already  the  father  of  two 
boys,  Leon  and  Henri,  while  Claire,  his  sister,  could  count 
three  children,  a  boy,  Joseph,  and  two  daughters,  Lucile 
and  Angele.  There  was  also  Gregoire,  at  the  mill,  with  a 
big  boy  who  had  received  the  name  of  Robert ;  and  there 
were  also  the  three  last  married  daughters  —  Louise,  with  a 
girl  two  years  old ;  Madeleine,  with  a  boy  six  months  of 
age ;  and  Marguerite,  who  in  anticipation  of  a  happy  event, 
had  decided  to  call  her  child  Stanislas,  if  it  were  a  boy,  and 
Christine,  if  it  should  be  a  girl. 

Thus  upon  every  side  the  family  oak  spread  out  its 
branches,  its  trunk  forking  and  multiplying,  and  boughs 
sprouting  from  boughs  at  each  successive  season.  And 
withal  Mathieu  was  not  yet  sixty,  and  Marianne  not  yet 
fifty-seven.  Both  still  possessed  flourishing  health,  and 
strength,  and  gayety,  and  were  ever  in  delight  at  seeing  the 
family,  which  had  sprung  from  them,  thus  growing  and 
spreading,  invading  all  the  country  around,  even  like  a 
forest  born  from  a  single  tree. 

But  the  great  and  glorious  festival  of  Chantebled  at  that 


400  FRUITFULNESS 

period  was  the  birth  of  Mathieu  and  Marianne's  first  great- 
grandchild—  a  girl,  called  Angeline,  daughter  of  their  grand- 
daughter, Berthe.  In  this  little  girl,  all  pink  and  white, 
the  ever-regretted  Blaise  seemed  to  live  again.  So  closely 
did  she  resemble  him  that  Charlotte,  his  widow,  already  a 
grandmother  in  her  forty-second  year,  wept  with  emotion  at 
the  sight  of  her.  Madame  Desvignes  had  died  six  months 
previously,  passing  away,  even  as  she  had  lived,  gently  and 
discreetly,  at  the  termination  of  her  task,  which  had  chiefly 
consisted  in  rearing  her  two  daughters  on  the  scanty  means 
at  her  disposal.  Still  it  was  she,  who,  before  quitting  the 
scene,  had  found  a  husband  for  her  granddaughter,  Berthe, 
in  the  person  of  Philippe  Havard,  a  young  engineer  who 
had  recently  been  appointed  assistant-manager  at  a  State 
factory  near  Mareuil.  It  was  at  Chantebled,  however,  that 
Berthe's  little  Angeline  was  born ;  and  on  the  day  of  the 
churching,  the  whole  family  assembled  together  there  once 
more  to  glorify  the  great-grandfather  and  great -grand  mother. 

"  Ah !  well,"  said  Marianne  gayly,  as  she  stood  beside 
the  babe's  cradle,  "  if  the  young  ones  fly  away  there  are 
others  born,  and  so  the  nest  will  never  be  empty." 

"  Never,  never !  "  repeated  Mathieu  with  emotion,  proud 
as  he  felt  of  that  continual  victory  over  solitude  and  death. 
"  We  shall  never  be  left  alone  !  " 

Yet  there  came  another  departure  which  brought  them 
many  tears.  Nicolas,  the  youngest  but  one  of  their  boys, 
who  was  approaching  his  twentieth  birthday,  and  thus  nigh 
the  cross-roads  of  life,  had  not  yet  decided  which  one  he 
would  follow.  He  was  a  dark,  sturdy  young  man,  with  an 
open,  laughing  face.  As  a  child,  he  had  adored  tales  of 
travel  and  far-away  adventure,  and  had  always  evinced  great 
courage  and  endurance,  returning  home  enraptured  from 
interminable  rambles,  and  never  uttering  complaints,  how- 
ever badly  his  feet  might  be  blistered.  And  withal  he 
possessed  a  most  orderly  mind,  ever  carefully  arranging  and 
classifying  his  little  belongings  in  his  drawers,  and  looking 
down  with  contempt  on  the  haphazard  way  in  which  his 
sisters  kept  their  things. 


FRUITFULNESS  401 

Later  on,  as  he  grew  up,  he  became  thoughtful,  as  if  he 
were  vainly  seeking  around  him  some  means  of  realizing  his 
two-fold  craving,  that  of  discovering  some  new  land  and 
organizing  it  properly.  One  of  the  last-born  of  a  numerous 
family,  he  no  longer  found  space  enough  for  the  amplitude 
and  force  of  his  desires.  His  brothers  and  sisters  had  already 
taken  all  the  surrounding  lands,  and  he  stifled,  threatened  also, 
as  it  were,  with  famine,  and  ever  sought  the  broad  expanse 
that  he  dreamt  of,  where  he  might  grow  and  reap  his  bread. 
No  more  room,  no  more  food  !  At  first  he  knew  not  in 
which  direction  to  turn,  but  groped  and  hesitated  for  some 
months.  Nevertheless,  his  hearty  laughter  continued  to 
gladden  the  house ;  he  wearied  neither  his  father  nor  his 
mother  with  the  care  of  his  destiny,  for  he  knew  that  he 
was  already  strong  enough  to  fix  it  himself. 

There  was  no  corner  left  for  him  at  the  farm  where  Ger- 
vais  and  Claire  took  up  all  the  room.  At  the  Beauchene 
works  Denis  was  all  sufficient,  reigning  there  like  a  con- 
scientious toiler,  and  nothing  justified  a  younger  brother  in 
claiming  a  share  beside  him.  At  the  mill,  too,  Gregoire 
was  as  yet  barely  established,  and  his  kingdom  was  so  small 
that  he  could  not  possibly  cede  half  of  it.  Thus  an  open- 
ing was  only  possible  with  Ambroise,  and  Nicolas  ended  by 
accepting  an  obliging  offer  which  the  latter  made  to  take  him 
on  trial  for  a  few  months,  by  way  of  initiating  him  into  the 
higher  branches  of  commerce.  Ambroise's  fortune  was 
becoming  prodigious  since  old  uncle  Du  Hordel  had  died, 
leaving  him  his  commission  business.  Year  by  year  the 
new  master  increased  his  trade  with  all  the  countries  of  the 
world.  Thanks  to  his  lucky  audacity  and  broad  interna- 
tional views,  he  was  enriching  himself  with  the  spoils  of  the 
earth.  And  though  Nicolas  again  began  to  stifle  in  Am- 
broise's huge  store-houses,  where  the  riches  of  distant  coun- 
tries, the  most  varied  climes,  were  collected  together,  it  was 
there  that  his  real  vocation  came  to  him ;  for  a  voice  suddenly 
arose,  calling  him  away  yonder  to  dim,  unknown  regions, 
vast  stretches  of  country  yet  sterile,  which  needed  to  be  popu- 
lated, and  cleared  and  sowed  with  the  crops  of  the  future. 


402  FRUITFULNESS 

For  two  months  Nicolas  kept  silent  respecting  the  designs 
which  he  was  now  maturing.  He  was  extremely  discreet, 
as  are  all  men  of  great  energy,  who  reflect  before  they  act. 
He  must  go,  that  was  certain,  since  neither  space  nor  suf- 
ficiency of  sunlight  remained  for  him  in  the  cradle  of  his 
birth ;  but  if  he  went  off  alone,  would  that  not  be  going 
in  an  imperfect  state,  deficient  in  the  means  needed  for  the 
heroic  task  of  populating  and  clearing  a  new  land  ?  He 
knew  a  girl  of  Janville,  one  Lisbeth  Moreau,  who  was  tall 
and  strong,  and  whose  robust  health,  seriousness,  and  activity 
had  charmed  him.  She  was  nineteen  years  of  age,  and,  like 
Nicolas,  she  stifled  in  the  little  nook  to  which  destiny  had 
confined  her ;  for  she  craved  for  the  free  and  open  air,  yon- 
der, afar  off*.  An  orphan,  and  long  dependent  on  an  aunt, 
who  was  simply  a  little  village  haberdasher,  she  had  hitherto, 
from  feelings  of  affection,  remained  cloistered  in  a  small 
and  gloomy  shop.  But  her  aunt  had  lately  died,  leaving 
her  some  ten  thousand  francs,  and  her  dream  was  to  sell  the 
little  business,  and  go  away  and  really  live  at  last.  One 
October  evening,  when  Nicolas  and  Lisbeth  told  one 
another  things  that  they  had  never  previously  told  anybody, 
they  came  to  an  understanding.  They  resolutely  took  each 
other's  hand  and  plighted  their  troth  for  life,  for  the  hard 
battle  of  creating  a  new  world,  a  new  family,  somewhere 
on  the  earth's  broad  surface,  in  those  mysterious,  far  away 
climes  of  which  they  knew  so  little.  'Twas  a  delightful 
betrothal,  full  of  courage  and  faith. 

Only  then,  everything  having  been  settled,  did  Nicolas 
speak  out,  announcing  his  departure  to  his  father  and  mother. 
It  was  an  autumn  evening,  still  mild,  but  fraught  with  win- 
ter's first  shiver,  and  the  twilight  was  falling.  Intense  grief 
wrung  the  parents'  hearts  as  soon  as  they  understood  their 
son.  This  time  it  was  not  simply  a  young  one  flying  from 
the  family  nest  to  build  his  own  on  some  neighboring  tree 
of  the  common  forest ;  it  was  flight  across  the  seas  forever, 
severance  without  hope  of  return.  They  would  see  their 
other  children  again,  but  this  one  was  breathing  an  eternal 
farewell.  Their  consent  would  be  the  share  of  cruel  sacri- 


FRUITFULNESS  403 

fice,  that  life  demands,  their  supreme  gift  to  life,  the  tithe 
levied  by  life  on  their  affection  and  their  blood.  To  pursue 
its  victory,  life,  the  perpetual  conqueror,  demanded  this 
portion  of  their  flesh,  this  overplus  of  the  numerous  family, 
which  was  overflowing,  spreading,  peopling  the  world.  And 
what  could  they  answer,  how  could  they  refuse  ?  The  son 
who  was  unprovided  for  took  himself  off;  nothing  could 
be  more  logical  or  more  sensible.  Far  beyond  the  father- 
land there  were  vast  continents  yet  uninhabited,  and  the 
seed  which  is  scattered  by  the  breezes  of  heaven  knows  no 
frontiers.  Beyond  the  race  there  is  mankind  with  that  end- 
less spreading  of  humanity  that  is  leading  us  to  the  one  fra- 
ternal people  of  the  accomplished  times,  when  the  whole 
earth  shall  be  but  one  sole  city  of  truth  and  justice. 

Moreover,  quite  apart  from  the  great  dream  of  those  seers, 
the  poets,  Nicolas,  like  a  practical  man,  whatever  his  enthu- 
siasm, gayly  gave  his  reasons  for  departing.  He  did  not 
wish  to  be  a  parasite ;  he  was  setting  off  to  the  conquest 
of  another  land,  where  he  would  grow  the  bread  he  needed, 
since  his  own  country  had  no  field  left  for  him.  Besides, 
he  took  his  country  with  him  in  his  blood ;  she  it  was  that 
he  wished  to  enlarge  afar  off  with  unlimited  increase  of 
wealth  and  strength.  It  was  ancient  Africa,  the  mysterious, 
now  explored,  traversed  from  end  to  end,  that  attracted  him. 
In  the  first  instance  he  intended  to  repair  to  Senegal,  whence 
he  would  doubtless  push  on  to  the  Soudan,  to  the  very  heart 
of  the  virgin  lands  where  he  dreamt  of  a  new  France,  an 
immense  colonial  empire,  which  would  rejuvenate  the  old 
Gallic  race  by  endowing  it  with  its  due  share  of  the  earth. 
And  it  was  there  that  he  had  the  ambition  of  carving  out  a 
kingdom  for  himself,  and  of  founding  with  Lisbeth  another 
dynasty  of  Froments,  and  a  new  Chantebled,  covering  under 
the  hot  sun  a  tract  ten  times  as  extensive  as  the  old  one, 
and  peopled  with  the  people  of  his  own  children.  And  he 
spoke  of  all  this  with  such  joyous  courage  that  Mathieu 
and  Marianne  ended  by  smiling  amid  their  tears,  despite 
the  rending  of  their  poor  hearts. 

"  Go,  my  lad,  we  cannot  keep  you  back.      Go  wherever 


4o4  FRUITFULNESS 

life  calls  you,  wherever  you  may  live  with  more  health  and 
joy  and  strength.  All  that  may  spring  from  you  yonder 
will  still  be  health  and  joy  and  strength  derived  from  us,  of 
which  we  shall  be  proud.  You  are  right,  one  must  not  weep, 
your  departure  must  be  a  fete,  for  the  family  does  not  sepa- 
rate, it  simply  extends,  invades,  and  conquers  the  world." 

Nevertheless,  on  the  day  of  farewell,  after  the  marriage 
of  Nicolas  and  Lisbeth  there  was  an  hour  of  painful  emo- 
tion at  Chantebled.  The  family  had  met  to  share  a  last 
meal  all  together,  and  when  the  time  came  for  the  young 
and  adventurous  couple  to  tear  themselves  from  the  maternal 
soil  there  were  those  who  sobbed  although  they  had  vowed 
to  be  very  brave.  Nicolas  and  Lisbeth  were  going  off  with 
little  means,  but  rich  in  hopes.  Apart  from  the  ten  thou- 
sand francs  of  the  wife's  dowry  they  had  only  been  willing 
to  take  another  ten  thousand,  just  enough  to  provide  for  the 
first  difficulties.  Might  courage  and  labor  therefore  prove 
sturdy  artisans  of  conquest ! 

Young  Benjamin,  the  last  born  of  the  brothers  Froment, 
was  particularly  upset  by  this  departure.  He  was  a  delicate, 
good-looking  child  not  yet  twelve  years  old,  whom  his  par- 
ents greatly  spoiled,  thinking  that  he  was  weak.  And  they 
were  quite  determined  that  they  would  at  all  events  keep 
him  with  them,  so  handsome  did  they  find  him  with  his  soft 
limpid  eyes  and  beautiful  curly  hair.  He  was  growing  up 
in  a  languid  way,  dreamy,  petted,  idle  among  his  mother's 
skirts,  like  the  one  charming  weakling  of  that  strong,  hard- 
working family. 

"  Let  me  kiss  you  again,  my  good  Nicolas,"  said  he  to 
his  departing  brother.  "  When  will  you  come  back  ?  " 

"  Never,  my  little  Benjamin." 

The  boy  shuddered. 

"  Never,  never !  "  he  repeated.  "  Oh  !  that's  too  long. 
Come  back,  come  back  some  day,  so  that  I  may  kiss  you 
again." 

"  Never,"  repeated  Nicolas,  turning  pale  himself. 
"Never,  never." 

He  had  lifted  up  the  lad,  whose  tears  were  raining  fast  ; 


FRUITFULNESS  405 

and  then  for  all  came  the  supreme  grief,  the  frightful  mo- 
ment of  the  hatchet-stroke,  of  the  separation  which  was  to 
be  eternal. 

"  Good-by,  little  brother !  Good-by,  good-by,  all  of 
you  ! " 

While  Mathieu  accompanied  the  future  conqueror  to  the 
door  for  the  last  time  wishing  him  victory,  Benjamin  in  wild 
grief  sought  a  refuge  beside  his  mother  who  was  blinded  by 
her  tears.  And  she  caught  him  up  with  a  passionate  clasp, 
as  if  seized  with  fear  that  he  also  might  leave  her.  He  was 
the  only  one  now  left  to  them  in  the  family  nest. 


XXI 

AT  the  factory,  in  her  luxurious  house  on  the  quay,  where 
she  had  long  reigned  as  sovereign  mistress,  Constance  for 
twelve  years  already  had  been  waiting  for  destiny,  remaining 
rigid  and  stubborn  amid  the  continual  crumbling  of  her  life 
and  hopes. 

During  those  twelve  years  Beauchene  had  pursued  a 
downward  course,  the  descent  of  which  was  fatal.  He  was 
right  at  the  bottom  now,  in  the  last  state  of  degradation. 
After  beginning  simply  as  a  roving  husband,  festively  in- 
clined, he  had  ended  by  living  entirely  away  from  his  home, 
principally  in  the  company  of  two  women,  aunt  and  niece. 
He  was  now  but  a  pitiful  human  rag,  fast  approaching  some 
shameful  death.  And  large  as  his  fortune  had  been,  it  had 
not  sufficed  him;  as  he  grew  older  he  had  squandered  money 
yet  more  and  more  lavishly,  immense  sums  being  swallowed 
up  in  disreputable  adventures,  the  scandal  of  which  it  had 
been  necessary  to  stifle.  Thus  he  at  last  found  himself  poor, 
receiving  but  a  small  portion  of  the  ever-increasing  profits 
of  the  works,  which  were  in  full  prosperity. 

This  was  the  disaster  which  brought  so  much  suffering  to 
Constance  in  her  incurable  pride.  Beauchene,  since  the 
death  of  his  son,  had  quite  abandoned  himself  to  a  dissolute 
life,  thinking  of  nothing  but  his  pleasures,  and  taking  no 
further  interest  in  his  establishment.  What  was  the  use  of 
defending  it,  since  there  was  no  longer  an  heir  to  whom  it 
might  be  transmitted,  enlarged  and  enriched  ?  And  thus  he 
had  surrendered  it,  bit  by  bit,  to  Denis,  his  partner,  whom, 
by  degrees,  he  allowed  to  become  the  sole  master.  On 
arriving  at  the  works,  Denis  had  possessed  but  one  of  the 
six  shares  which  represented  the  totality  of  the  property 

406 


FRUITFULNESS  407 

according  to  the  agreement.  And  Beauchene  had  even 
reserved  to  himself  the  right  of  repurchasing  that  share  within 
a  certain  period.  But  far  from  being  in  a  position  to  do  so 
before  the  appointed  date  was  passed,  he  had  been  obliged 
to  cede  yet  another  share  to  the  young  man,  in  order  to 
free  himself  of  debts  which  he  could  not  confess. 

From  that  time  forward  it  became  a  habit  with  Beauchene 
to  cede  Denis  a  fresh  share  every  two  years.  A  third  fol- 
lowed the  second,  then  came  the  turn  of  the  fourth  and  the 
fifth,  in  such  wise,  indeed,  that  after  a  final  arrangement,  he 
had  not  even  kept  a  whole  share  for  himself,  but  simply 
some  portion  of  the  sixth.  And  even  that  was  really  ficti- 
tious, for  Denis  had  only  acknowledged  it  in  order  to  have 
a  pretext  for  providing  him  with  a  certain  income,  which, 
by  the  way,  he  subdivided,  handing  half  of  it  to  Constance 
every  month. 

She,  therefore,  was  ignorant  of  nothing.  She  knew  that, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  works  would  belong  to  that  son  of 
the  hated  Froments,  whenever  he  might  choose  to  close  the 
doors  on  their  old  master,  who,  as  it  happened,  was  never 
seen  now  in  the  workshops.  True,  there  was  a  clause  in 
the  covenant  which  admitted,  so  long  as  that  covenant  should 
not  be  broken,  the  possibility  of  repurchasing  all  the  shares 
at  one  and  the  same  time.  Was  it,  then,  some  mad  hope 
of  doing  this,  a  fervent  belief  in  a  miracle,  in  the  possibility 
of  some  saviour  descending  from  Heaven,  that  kept  Con- 
stance thus  rigid  and  stubborn,  awaiting  destiny  ?  Those 
twelve  years  of  vain  waiting  and  increasing  decline  did  not 
seem  to  have  diminished  her  conviction  that  in  spite  of 
everything  she  would  some  day  triumph.  No  doubt  her 
tears  had  gushed  forth  at  Chantebled  in  presence  of  the 
victory  of  Mathieu  and  Marianne ;  but  she  soon  recovered 
her  self-possession,  and  lived  on  in  the  hope  that  some  unex- 
pected occurrence  would  at  last  prove  that  she,  the  childless 
woman,  was  in  the  right. 

She  could  not  have  said  precisely  what  it  was  she  wished; 
she  was  simply  bent  on  remaining  alive  until  misfortune 
should  fall  upon  the  over-numerous  family,  to  exculpate  her 


4o8  FRUITFULNESS 

for  what  had  happened  in  her  own  home,  the  loss  of  her  son 
who  was  in  the  grave,  and  the  downfall  of  her  husband  who 
was  in  the  gutter  —  all  the  abomination,  indeed,  which  had 
been  so  largely  wrought  by  herself,  but  which  filled  her  with 
agony.  However  much  her  heart  might  bleed  over  her 
losses,  her  vanity  as  an  honest  bourgeoise  filled  her  with  re- 
bellious thoughts,  for  she  could  not  admit  that  she  had  been 
in  the  wrong.  And  thus  she  awaited  the  revenge  of  destiny 
in  that  luxurious  house,  which  was  far  too  large  now  that 
she  alone  inhabited  it.  She  only  occupied  the  rooms  on 
the  first  floor,  where  she  shut  herself  up  for  days  together 
with  an  old  serving  woman,  the  sole  domestic  that  she  had 
retained.  Gowned  in  black,  as  if  bent  on  wearing  eternal 
mourning  for  Maurice,  always  erect,  stifF,  and  haughtily 
silent,  she  never  complained,  although  her  covert  exaspera- 
tion had  greatly  affected  her  heart,  in  such  wise  that  she 
experienced  at  times  most  terrible  attacks  of  stifling. 
These  she  kept  as  secret  as  possible,  and  one  day  when 
the  old  servant  ventured  to  go  for  Doctor  Boutan  she 
threatened  her  with  dismissal.  She  would  not  even  answer 
the  doctor,  and  she  refused  to  take  any  remedies,  certain  as 
she  felt  that  she  would  last  as  long  as  the  hope  which  buoyed 
her  up. 

Yet  what  anguish  it  was  when  she  suddenly  began  to 
stifle,  all  alone  in  the  empty  house,  without  son  or  husband 
near  her !  She  called  nobody  since  she  knew  that  nobody 
would  come.  And  the  attack  over,  with  what  unconquer- 
able obstinacy  did  she  rise  erect  again,  repeating  that  her 
presence  sufficed  to  prevent  Denis  from  being  the  master, 
from  reigning  alone  in  full  sovereignty,  and  that  in  any 
case  he  would  not  have  the  house  and  install  himself  in  it 
like  a  conqueror,  so  long  as  she  had  not  sunk  to  death  under 
the  final  collapse  of  the  ceilings. 

Amid  this  retired  life,  Constance,  haunted  as  she  was  by 
her  fixed  idea,  had  no  other  occupation  than  that  of  watch- 
ing the  factory,  and  ascertaining  what  went  on  there  day  by 
day.  Morange,  whom  she  had  made  her  confidant,  gave  her 
information  in  all  simplicity  almost  every  evening,  when  he 


FRUITFULNESS  409 

came  to  speak  to  her  for  a  moment  after  leaving  his  office. 
She  learnt  everything  from  his  lips  —  the  successive  sales  of 
the  shares  into  which  the  property  had  been  divided,  their 
gradual  acquisition  by  Denis,  and  the  fact  that  Beauchene 
and  herself  were  henceforth  living  on  the  new  master's 
liberality.  Moreover,  she  so  organized  her  system  of  espio- 
nage as  to  make  the  old  accountant  tell  her  unwittingly  all 
that  he  knew  of  the  private  life  led  by  Denis,  his  wife 
Marthe,  and  their  children,  Lucien,  Paul,  and  Hortense  : 
all,  indeed,  that  was  done  and  said  in  the  modest  little 
pavilion  where  the  young  people,  in  spite  of  their  increasing 
fortune,  were  still  residing,  evincing  no  ambitious  haste  to 
occupy  the  large  house  on  the  quay.  They  did  not  even 
seem  to  notice  what  scanty  accommodation  they  had  in  that 
pavilion,  while  she  alone  dwelt  in  the  gloomy  mansion, 
which  was  so  spacious  that  she  seemed  quite  lost  in  it. 
And  she  was  enraged,  too,  by  their  deference,  by  the  tran- 
quil way  in  which  they  waited  for  her  to  be  no  more ;  for 
she  had  been  unable  to  make  them  quarrel  with  her,  and 
was  obliged  to  show  herself  grateful  for  the  means  they 
gave  her,  and  to  kiss  their  children,  whom  she  hated,  when 
they  brought  her  flowers. 

Thus,  months  and  years  went  by,  and  almost  every  even- 
ing when  Morange  for  a  moment  called  on  Constance,  he 
found  her  in  the  same  little  silent  salon,  gowned  in  the  same 
black  dress,  and  stiffened  into  a  posture  of  obstinate  expec- 
tancy. Though  no  sign  was  given  of  destiny's  revenge,  of 
the  patiently  hoped-for  fall  of  misfortune  upon  others,  she 
never  seemed  to  doubt  of  her  ultimate  victory.  On  the 
contrary,  when  things  fell  more  and  more  heavily  upon 
her,  she  drew  herself  yet  more  erect,  defying  fate,  buoyed 
up  by  the  conviction  that  it  would  at  last  be  forced  to  prove 
that  she  was  right.  Thus,  she  remained  immutable,  supe- 
rior to  fatigue,  and  ever  relying  on  a  prodigy. 

Each  evening,  when  Morange  called  during  those  twelve 
years,  the  conversation  invariably  began  in  the  same  way. 

"  Nothing  fresh  since  yesterday,  dear  madame  ?  " 

"  No,  my  friend,  nothing." 


4io  FRUITFULNESS 

"  Well,  the  chief  thing  is  to  enjoy  good  health.  One 
can  wait  for  better  days." 

"  Oh  !  nobody  enjoys  good  health  ;  still  one  waits  all  the 
same." 

And  now  one  evening,  at  the  end  of  the  twelve  years,  as 
Morange  went  in  to  see  her,  he  detected  that  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  little  drawing-room  was  changed,  quivering 
as  it  were  with  restrained  delight  amid  the  eternal  silence. 

"  Nothing  fresh  since  yesterday,  dear  madame  ?  " 

11  Yes,  my  friend,  there's  something  fresh." 

"  Something  favorable  I  hope,  then  ;  something  pleasant 
that  you  have  been  waiting  for  ?  " 

"Something  that  I  have  been  waiting  for  —  yes  !  What 
one  knows  how  to  wait  for  always  comes." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  feeling  almost  anxious  when 
he  saw  how  altered  she  was,  with  glittering  eyes  and  quick 
gestures.  What  fulfilment  of  her  desires,  after  so  many 
years  of  immutable  mourning,  could  have  resuscitated  her 
like  that  ?  She  smiled,  she  breathed  vigorously,  as  if  she 
were  relieved  of  the  enormous  weight  which  had  so  long 
crushed  and  immured  her.  But  when  he  asked  the  cause 
of  her  great  happiness  she  said  : 

"  I  will  not  tell  you  yet,  my  friend.  Perhaps  I  do  wrong 
to  rejoice  ;  for  everything  is  still  very  vague  and  doubtful. 
Only  somebody  told  me  this  morning  certain  things,  which 
I  must  make  sure  of,  and  think  over.  When  I  have  done 
so  I  shall  confide  in  you,  you  may  rely  on  it,  for  I  tell 
you  everything ;  besides  which,  I  shall  no  doubt  need  your 
help.  So  have  a  little  patience,  some  evening  you  shall 
come  to  dinner  with  me  here,  and  we  shall  have  the  whole 
evening  before  us  to  chat  at  our  ease.  But  ah  !  man  Dieu  ! 
if  it  were  only  true,  if  it  were  only  the  miracle  at  last !  " 

More  than  three  weeks  elapsed  before  Morange  heard 
anything  further.  He  saw  that  Constance  was  very  thought- 
ful and  very  feverish,  but  he  did  not  even  question  her, 
absorbed  as  he  himself  was  in  the  solitary,  not  to  say  auto- 
matic, life  which  he  had  made  for  himself.  He  had  lately 
completed  his  sixty-ninth  year  j  thirty  years  had  gone  by 


FRUITFULNESS  411 

since  the  death  of  his  wife  Valerie,  more  than  twenty  since 
his  daughter  Reine  had  joined  her,  and  he  still  ever  lived  on 
in  his  methodical,  punctual  manner,  amid  the  downfall  of 
his  existence.  Never  had  man  suffered  more  than  he, 
passed  through  greater  tragedies,  experienced  keener  remorse, 
and  withal  he  came  and  went  in  a  careful,  correct  way, 
ever  and  ever  prolonging  his  career  of  mediocrity,  like  one 
whom  many  may  have  forgotten,  but  whom  keenness  of 
grief  has  preserved. 

Nevertheless  Morange  had  evidently  sustained  some 
internal  damage  of  a  nature  to  cause  anxiety.  He  was 
lapsing  into  the  most  singular  manias.  While  obstinately 
retaining  possession  of  the  over-large  flat  which  he  had 
formerly  occupied  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  he  now  lived 
there  absolutely  alone ;  for  he  had  dismissed  his  servant,  and 
did  his  own  marketing,  cooking,  and  cleaning.  For  ten 
years  nobody  but  himself  had  been  inside  his  rooms,  and 
the  most  filthy  neglect  was  suspected  there.  But  in  vain 
did  the  landlord  speak  of  repairs,  he  was  not  allowed  even 
to  cross  the  threshold.  Moreover,  although  the  old  account- 
ant, who  was  now  white  as  snow,  with  a  long,  streaming 
beard,  remained  scrupulously  clean  of  person,  he  wore  a 
most  wretched  threadbare  coat,  which  he  must  have  spent 
his  evenings  in  repairing.  Such,  too,  was  his  maniacal, 
sordid  avarice  that  he  no  longer  spent  a  farthing  on  himself 
apart  from  the  money  which  he  paid  for  his  bread  —  bread 
of  the  commonest  kind,  which  he  purchased  every  four  days 
and  ate  when  it  was  stale,  in  order  that  he  might  make  it 
last  the  longer.  This  greatly  puzzled  the  people  who  were 
acquainted  with  him,  and  never  a  week  went  by  without 
the  house-porter  propounding  the  question :  "  When  a 
gentleman  of  such  quiet  habits  earns  eight  thousand  francs 
a  year  at  his  office  and  never  spends  a  cent,  what  can  he 
do  with  his  money  ?  "  Some  folks  even  tried  to  reckon  up 
the  amount  which  Morange  must  be  piling  in  some  corner, 
and  thought  that  it  might  perhaps  run  to  some  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  francs. 

But  more  serious  trouble  declared  itself.      He  was  twice 


4i2  FRUITFULNESS 

snatched  away  from  certain  death.  One  day,  when  Denis 
was  returning  homewards  across  the  Crenelle  bridge  he  per- 
ceived Morange  leaning  far  over  the  parapet,  watching  the 
flow  of  the  water,  and  already  to  make  a  plunge  if  he  had 
not  been  grasped  by  his  coat-tails.  The  poor  man,  on  re- 
covering his  self-possession,  began  to  laugh  in  his  gentle  way, 
and  talked  of  having  felt  giddy.  Then,  on  another  occasion, 
at  the  works,  Victor  Moineaud  pushed  him  away  from  some 
machinery  in  motion  at  the  very  moment  when,  as  if  hypno- 
tized, he  was  about  to  surrender  himself  to  its  devouring 
clutches.  Then  he  again  smiled,  and  acknowledged  that  he 
had  done  wrong  in  passing  so  near  to  the  wheels.  After  this 
he  was  watched,  for  people  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
occasionally  lost  his  head.  If  Denis  retained  him  as  chief 
accountant,  this  was,  firstly,  from  a  feeling  of  gratitude  for 
his  long  services ;  but,  apart  from  that  matter,  the  extraor- 
dinary thing  was  that  Morange  had  never  discharged  his 
duties  more  ably,  obstinately  tracing  every  doubtful  centime 
in  his  books,  and  displaying  the  greatest  accuracy  over  the 
longest  additions.  Always  showing  a  calm  and  restful  face, 
as  though  no  tempest  had  ever  assailed  his  heart,  he  clung 
tightly  to  his  mechanical  life,  like  a  discreet  maniac,  who, 
though  people  might  not  know  it,  ought,  perhaps,  to  have 
been  placed  under  restraint. 

At  the  same  time,  it  should  be  mentioned  that  for  some  few 
years  already  there  had  been  quite  a  big  affair  in  Morange's 
life.  Although  he  was  Constance's  confidant,  although  she 
had  made  him  her  creature  by  the  force  of  her  despotic  will, 
he  had  gradually  conceived  the  greatest  affection  for  Denis's 
daughter,  Hortense.  As  this  child  grew  up,  he  fancied  that 
he  found  in  her  his  own  long-mourned  daughter,  Reine.  She 
had  recently  completed  her  ninth  year,  and  each  time  that 
Morange  met  her  he  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  emotion  and 
adoration,  the  more  touching  since  it  was  all  a  divine  illusion 
on  his  part,  for  the  two  girls  in  no  wise  resembled  each  other, 
the  one  having  been  extremely  dark,  and  the  other  being 
nearly  fair.  In  spite  of  his  terrible  avarice,  the  accountant 
loaded  Hortense  with  dolls  and  sweetmeats  on  every  possible 


FRUITFULNESS  413 

occasion ;  and  at  last  his  affection  for  the  child  absorbed 
him  to  such  a  degree  that  Constance  felt  offended  by  it. 
She  thereupon  gave  him  to  understand  that  whosoever  was 
not.  entirely  on  her  side  was,  in  reality,  against  her. 

To  all  appearance,  he  made  his  submission  j  in  reality,  he 
only  loved  the  child  the  more  for  the  thwarting  of  his  pas- 
sion, and  he  watched  for  her  in  order  to  kiss  her  in  secret. 
In  his  daily  intercourse  with  Constance,  in  showing  apparent 
fidelity  to  the  former  mistress  of  the  works,  he  now  simply 
yielded  to  fear,  like  the  poor  weak  being  he  was,  one  whom 
Constance  had  ever  bent  beneath  her  stern  hand.  The  pact 
between  them  was  an  old  one,  it  dated  from  that  monstrous 
thing  which  they  alone  knew,  that  complicity  of  which  they 
never  spoke,  but  which  bound  them  so  closely  together. 

He,  with  his  weak,  good  nature,  seemed  from  that  day  to 
have  remained  annihilated,  tamed,  cowed  like  a  frightened 
animal.  Since  that  day,  too,  he  had  learnt  many  other 
things,  and  now  no  secret  of  the  house  remained  unknown 
to  him.  This  was  not  surprising.  He  had  been  living  there 
so  many  years.  He  had  so  often  walked  to  and  fro  with  his 
short,  discreet,  maniacal  step,  hearing,  seeing,  and  surprising 
everything  !  However,  this  madman,  who  knew  the  truth 
and  who  remained  silent  —  this  madman,  left  free  amid  the 
mysterious  drama  enacted  in  the  Beauchenes'  home,  was 
gradually  coming  to  a  rebellious  mood,  particularly  since 
he  was  compelled  to  hide  himself  to  kiss  his  little  friend 
Hortense.  His  heart  growled  at  the  thought  of  it,  and  he 
felt  ready  to  explode  should  his  passion  be  interfered  with. 

All  at  once,  one  evening,  Constance  kept  him  to  dinner. 
And  he  suspected  that  the  hour  of  her  revelations  had 
come,  on  seeing  how  she  quivered  and  how  erectly  she 
carried  her  little  figure,  like  a  fighter  henceforth  certain  of 
victory.  Nevertheless,  although  the  servant  left  them 
alone  after  bringing  in  at  one  journey  the  whole  of  the 
frugal  repast,  she  did  not  broach  the  great  affair  at  table. 
She  spoke  of  the  factory  and  then  of  Denis  and  his  wife 
Marthe,  whom  she  criticised,  and  she  was  even  so  foolish 
as  to  declare  that  Hortense  was  badly  behaved,  ugly,  and 


4i4  FRUITFULNESS 

destitute  of  grace.  The  accountant,  like  the  coward  he 
was,  listened  to  her,  never  daring  to  protest  in  spite  of  the 
irritation  and  rebellion  of  his  whole  being. 

11  Well,  we  shall  see,"  she  said  at  last,  "  when  one  and 
all  are  put  back  into  their  proper  places." 

Then  she  waited  until  they  returned  to  the  little  draw- 
ing-room, and  the  doors  were  shut  behind  them ;  and  it 
was  only  then,  near  the  fire,  amid  the  deep  silence  of  the 
winter  evening,  that  she  spoke  out  on  the  subject  which 
she  had  at  heart : 

"  As  I  think  I  have  already  told  you,  my  friend,  I  have 
need  of  you.  You  must  obtain  employment  at  the  works 
for  a  young  man  in  whom  I  am  interested.  And  if  you 
desire  to  please  me,  you  will  even  take  him  into  your  own 
office." 

Morange,  who  was  seated  in  front  of  her  on  the  other 
side  of  the  chimney-piece,  gave  her  a  look  of  surprise. 

"  But  I  am  not  the  master,"  he  replied ;  "  apply  to  the 
master,  he  will  certainly  do  whatever  you  ask." 

"  No,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  indebted  to  Denis  in  any  way. 
Besides,  that  would  not  suit  my  plans.  You  yourself  must 
recommend  the  young  man,  and  take  him  as  an  assistant, 
coaching  him  and  giving  him  a  post  under  you.  Come, 
you  surely  have  the  power  to  choose  a  clerk.  Besides, 
I  insist  on  it." 

She  spoke  like  a  sovereign,  and  he  bowed  his  back,  for 
he  had  obeyed  people  all  his  life ;  first  his  wife,  then  his 
daughter,  and  now  that  dethroned  old  queen  who  terrified 
him  in  spite  of  the  dim  feeling  of  rebellion  which  had  been 
growing  within  him  for  some  time  past. 

"No  doubt,  I  might  take  the  young  man  on,"  he  said, 
"  but  who  is  he  ?  " 

Constance  did  not  immediately  reply.  She  had  turned 
towards  the  fire,  apparently  for  the  purpose  of  raising 
a  log  of  wood  with  the  tongs,  but  in  reality  to  give  herself 
time  for  further  reflection.  What  good  would  it  do  to  tell 
him  everything  at  once  ?  She  would  some  day  be  forced 
to  tell  it  him,  if  she  wished  to  have  him  entirely  on  her 


FRUITFULNESS  415 

side  ;  but  there  was  no  hurry,  and  she  fancied  that  it  would 
be  skilful  policy  if  at  present  she  merely  prepared  the 
ground. 

"  He  is  a  young  man  whose  position  has  touched  me,  on 
account  of  certain  recollections,"  she  replied.  "  Perhaps 
you  remember  a  girl  who  worked  here  —  oh  !  a  very  long 
time  ago,  some  thirty  years  at  the  least  —  a  certain  Norine 
Moineaud,  one  of  old  Moineaud's  daughters." 

Morange  had  hastily  raised  his  head,  and  as  sudden 
light  flashed  on  his  memory  he  looked  at  Constance  with 
dilated  eyes.  Before  he  could  even  weigh  his  words  he  let 
everything  escape  him  in  a  cry  of  surprise :  "  Alexandre- 
Honore,  Norine's  son,  the  child  of  Rougemont !  " 

Quite  thunderstruck  by  those  words,  Constance  dropped 
the  tongs  she  was  holding,  and  gazed  into  the  old  man's 

O  O7  O 

eyes,  diving  to  the  very  depths  of  his  soul. 

"  Ah  !  you  know,  then  ! "  she  said.  "  What  is  it  you 
know  ?  You  must  tell  me ;  hide  nothing.  Speak !  I 
insist  on  it !  " 

What  he  knew  ?  Why,  he  knew  everything.  He  spoke 
slowly  and  at  length,  as  from  the  depths  of  a  dream.  He 
had  witnessed  everything,  learnt  everything  —  Norine's 
trouble,  the  money  given  by  Beauchene  to  provide  for  her 
at  Madame  Bourdieu's,  the  child  carried  to  the  Foundling 
Hospital  and  then  put  out  to  nurse  at  Rougemont,  whence 
he  had  fled  after  stealing  three  hundred  francs.  And  the 
old  accountant  was  even  av/are  that  the  young  scamp, 
after  stranding  on  the  pavement  of  Paris,  had  led  the  vilest 
of  lives  there. 

"  But  who  told  you  all  that  ?  How  do  you  know  all 
that  ?  "  cried  Constance,  who  felt  full  of  anxiety. 

He  waved  his  arm  with  a  vague.,  sweeping  gesture,  as  if 
to  take  in  all  the  surrounding  atmosphere,  the  whole  house. 
He  knew  those  things  because  they  were  things  pertaining 
to  the  place,  which  people  had  told  him  of,  or  which  he  had 
guessed.  He  could  no  longer  remember  exactly  how  they 
had  reached  him.  But  he  knew  them  well. 

"  You  understand,"  said  he,  "  when  one  has  been  in  a 


416  FRUITFULNESS 

place  for  more  than  thirty  years,  things  end  by  coming  to 
one  naturally.  I  know  everything,  everything." 

Constance  started  and  deep  silence  fell.  He,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  embers,  had  sunk  back  into  the  dolorous 
past.  She  reflected  that  it  was,  after  all,  preferable  that  the 
position  should  be  perfectly  plain.  Since  he  was  acquainted 
with  everything,  it  was  only  needful  that  she,  with  all 
determination  and  bravery,  should  utilize  him  as  her  docile 
instrument. 

"  Alexandre-Honore,  the  child  of  Rougemont,"  she  said. 
"Yes!  that  is  the  young  man  whom  I  have  at  last  found 
again.  But  are  you  also  aware  of  the  steps  which  I  took 
twelve  years  ago,  when  I  despaired  of  finding  him,  and 
actually  thought  him  dead  ?  " 

Morange  nodded  affirmatively,  and  she  again  went  on 
speaking,  relating  that  she  had  long  since  renounced  her 
old  plans,  when  all  at  once  destiny  had  revealed  itself  to 
her. 

"  Imagine  a  flash  of  lightning  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It 
was  on  the  morning  of  the  day  when  you  found  me  so 
moved  !  My  sister-in-law,  Seraphine,  who  does  not  call  on 
me  four  times  a  year,  came  here,  to  my  great  surprise,  at 
ten  o'clock.  She  has  become  very  strange,  as  you  are 
aware,  and  I  did  not  at  first  pay  any  attention  to  the  story 
which  she  began  to  relate  to  me  —  the  story  of  a  young 
man  whom  she  had  become  acquainted  with  through  some 
lady  —  an  unfortunate  young  man  who  had  been  spoilt  by 
bad  company,  and  whom  one  might  save  by  a  little  help. 
Then  what  a  blow  it  was,  my  friend,  when  she  all  at  once 
spoke  out  plainly,  and  told  me  of  the  discovery  which  she 
had  made  by  chance.  I  tell  you,  it  is  destiny  awaking  and 
striking  !  " 

The  story  was  indeed  curious.  Prematurely  aged  though 
she  was,  Seraphine,  amid  her  growing  insanity,  continued 
to  lead  a  wild,  rackety  life,  and  the  strangest  stories  were 
related  of  her.  A  singular  caprice  of  hers,  given  her  own 
viciousness,  was  to  join,  as  a  lady  patroness,  a  society 
whose  purpose  was  to  succor  and  moralize  young  offenders 


FRUITFULNESS  417 

on  their  release  from  prison.  And  it  was  in  this  wise  that 
she  had  become  acquainted  with  Alexandre-Honore,  now  a 
big  fellow  of  two-and-thirty,  who  had  just  completed  a 
term  of  six  years'  imprisonment.  He  had  ended  by  telling 
her  his  true  story,  speaking  of  Rougemont,  naming  Norine 
his  mother,  and  relating  the  fruitless  efforts  that  he  had 
made  in  former  years  to  discover  his  father,  who  was  some 
immensely  wealthy  man.  In  the  midst  of  it,  Seraphine  sud- 
denly understood  everything,  and  in  particular  why  it  was 
that  his  face  had  seemed  so  familiar  to  her.  His  striking 
resemblance  to  Beauchene  sufficed  to  throw  a  vivid  light 
upon  the  question  of  his  parentage.  For  fear  of  worry, 
she  herself  told  him  nothing,  but  as  she  remembered  how 
passionately  Constance  had  at  one  time  striven  to  find  him, 
she  went  to  her  and  acquainted  her  with  her  discovery. 

"  He  knows  nothing  as  yet,"  Constance  explained  to 
Morange.  "  My  sister-in-law  will  simply  send  him  here 
as  if  to  a  lady  friend  who  will  find  him  a  good  situation. 
It  appears  that  he  now  asks  nothing  better  than  to  work. 
If  he  has  misconducted  himself,  the  unhappy  fellow,  there 
have  been  many  excuses  for  it !  And,  besides,  I  will 
answer  for  him  as  soon  as  he  is  in  my  hands ;  he  will  then 
only  do  as  I  tell  him." 

All  that  Constance  knew  respecting  Alexandre's  recent 
years  was  a  story  which  he  had  concocted  and  retailed  to 
Seraphine  —  a  story  to  the  effect  that  he  owed  his  long  term 
of  imprisonment  to  a  woman,  the  real  culprit,  who  had  been 
his  mistress  and  whom  he  had  refused  to  denounce.  Of 
course  that  imprisonment,  whatever  its  cause,  only  accounted 
for  six  out  of  the  twelve  years  which  had  elapsed  since  his 
disappearance,  and  the  six  others,  of  which  he  said  nothing, 
might  conceal  many  an  act  of  ignominy  and  crime.  On 
the  other  hand,  imprisonment  at  least  seemed  to  have  had 
a  restful  effect  on  him  ;  he  had  emerged  from  his  long  con- 
finement, calmer  and  keener-witted,  with  the  intention 
of  spoiling  his  life  no  longer.  And  cleansed,  clad,  and 
schooled  by  Seraphine,  he  had  almost  become  a  presentable 
young  man. 


2  £ 


4i8  FRUITFULNESS 

Morange  at  last  looked  up  from  the  glowing  embers,  at 
which  he  had  been  staring  so  fixedly. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  to  do  with  him  ?  "  he  inquired. 
"  Does  he  write  a  decent  hand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  his  handwriting  is  good.  No  doubt,  however,  he 
knows  very  little.  It  is  for  that  reason  that  I  wish  to 
intrust  him  to  you.  You  will  polish  him  up  for  me  and 
make  him  conversant  with  everything.  My  desire  is  that 
in  a  year  or  two  he  should  know  everything  about  the 
factory,  like  a  master." 

At  that  last  word  which  enlightened  him,  the  account- 
ant's good  sense  suddenly  awoke.  Amid  the  manias  which 
were  wrecking  his  mind,  he  had  remained  a  man  of  figures 
with  a  passion  for  arithmetical  accuracy,  and  he  protested. 

"  Well,  madame,  since  you  wish  me  to  assist  you,  pray 
tell  me  everything;  tell  me  in  what  work  we  can  employ 
this  young  man  here.  Really  now,  you  surely  cannot  hope 
through  him  to  regain  possession  of  the  factory,  re-purchase 
the  shares,  and  become  sole  owner  of  the  place  ?  " 

Then,  with  the  greatest  logic  and  clearness,  he  showed 
how  foolish  such  a  dream  would  be,  enumerating  figures 
and  fully  setting  forth  how  large  a  sum  of  money  would  be 
needed  to  indemnify  Denis,  who  was  installed  in  the  place 
like  a  conqueror. 

"  Besides,  dear  madame,  I  don't  understand  why  you 
should  take  that  young  man  rather  than  another.  He  has 
no  legal  rights,  as  you  must  be  aware.  He  could  never  be 
anything  but  a  stranger  here,  and  I  should  prefer  an  intelli- 
gent, honest  man,  acquainted  with  our  line  of  business." 

Constance  had  set  to  work  poking  the  fire  logs  with  the 
tongs.  When  she  at  last  looked  up  she  thrust  her  face 
towards  the  other's,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  but  violently : 

"  Alexandre  is  my  husband's  son,  he  is  the  heir .  He 

is  not  the  stranger.  The  stranger  is  that  Denis,  that  son 
of  the  Froments,  who  has  robbed  us  of  our  property  !  You 
rend  my  heart ;  you  make  it  bleed,  my  friend,  by  forcing  me 
to  tell  you  this." 

The  answer  she  thus  gave  was  the  answer  of  a  conserva- 


FRUITFULNESS  419 

five  botfrgeoise,  who  held  that  it  would  be  more  just  if  the 
inheritance  should  go  to  an  illegitimate  scion  of  the  house 
rather  than  to  a  stranger.  Doubtless  the  woman,  the  wife, 
the  mother  within  her,  bled  even  as  she  herself  acknowl- 
edged, but  she  sacrificed  everything  to  her  rancor;  she 
would  drive  the  stranger  away  even  if  in  doing  so  her  own 
flesh  should  be  lacerated.  Then,  too,  it  vaguely  seemed  to 
her  that  her  husband's  son  must  be  in  some  degree  her  own, 
since  his  father  was  likewise  the  father  of  the  son  to  whom 
she  had  given  birth,  and  who  was  dead.  Besides,  she  would 
make  that  young  fellow  her  son  ;  she  would  direct  him,  she 
would  compel  him  to  be  hers,  to  work  through  her  and  for 
her. 

"  You  wish  to  know  how  I  shall  employ  him  in  the 
place,"  she  resumed.  "  I  myself  don't  know.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  I  shall  not  easily  find  the  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  francs  which  may  be  required.  Your  figures  are  accu- 
rate, and  it  is  possible  that  we  may  never  have  the  money 
to  buy  back  the  property.  But,  all  the  same,  why  not 
fight,  why  not  try?  And,  besides  —  I  will  admit  it  — 
suppose  we  are  vanquished,  well  then,  so  much  the  worse 
for  the  other.  For  I  assure  you  that  if  this  young  man 
will  only  listen  to  me,  he  will  then  become  the  agent  of 
destruction,  the  avenger  and  punisher,  implanted  in  the 
factory  to  wreck  it !  " 

With  a  gesture  which  summoned  ruin  athwart  the  walls, 
she  finished  expressing  her  abominable  hopes.  Among  her 
vague  plans,  reared  upon  hate,  was  that  of  employing  the 
wretched  Alexandre  as  a  destructive  weapon,  whose  ravages 
would  bring  her  some  relief.  Should  she  lose  all  other 
battles,  that  would  assuredly  be  the  final  one.  And  she 
had  attained  to  this  pitch  of  madness  through  the  boundless 
despair  in  which  the  loss  of  her  only  son  had  plunged  her, 
withered,  consumed  by  a  love  which  she  could  not  content, 
then  demented,  perverted  to  the  point  of  crime. 

Morange  shuddered  when,  with  her  stubborn  fierceness, 
she  concluded  :  "  For  twelve  years  past  I  have  been  waiting 
for  a  stroke  of  destiny,  and  here  it  is  !  I  would  rather  per- 


420  FRUITFULNESS 

ish  than  not  draw  from  it  the  last  chance  of  good  fortune 
which  it  brings  me  !  " 

This  meant  that  Denis's  ruin  was  decided  on,  and  would 
be  effected  if  destiny  were  willing.  And  the  old  accountant 
could  picture  the  disaster:  innocent  children  struck  down  in 
the  person  of  their  father,  a  great  and  most  unjust  catas- 
trophe, which  made  his  kindly  heart  rise  in  rebellion. 
Would  he  allow  that  fresh  crime  to  be  committed  without 
shouting  aloud  all  that  he  knew  ?  Doubtless  the  memory 
of  the  other  crime,  the  first  one,  the  monstrous  buried  crime 
about  which  they  both  kept  silence,  returned  at  that  horri- 
ble moment  and  shone  out  disturbingly  in  his  eyes,  for  she 
herself  shuddered  as  if  she  could  see  it  there,  while  with 
the  view  of  mastering  him  she  gazed  at  him  fixedly.  For 
a  moment,  as  they  peered  into  one  another's  eyes,  they 
lived  once  more  beside  the  murderous  trap,  and  shivered  in 
the  cold  gust  which  rose  from  the  abyss.  And  this  time 
again  Morange,  like  a  poor  weak  man  overpowered  by  a 
woman's  will,  was  vanquished,  and  did  not  speak. 

"  So  it  is  agreed,  my  friend,"  she  softly  resumed.  "  I 
rely  on  you  to  take  Alexandre,  in  the  first  place,  as  a  clerk. 
You  can  see  him  here  one  evening  at  five  o'clock,  after 
dusk,  for  I  do  not  wish  him  to  know  at  first  what  interest 
I  take  in  him.  Shall  we  say  the  day  after  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Yes,  the  evening  of  the  day  after  to-morrow,  if  it 
pleases  you,  dear  madame." 

On  the  morrow  Morange  displayed  so  much  agitation 
that  the  wife  of  the  door-porter  of  the  house  where  he 
resided,  a  woman  who  was  ever  watching  him,  imparted 
her  fears  to  her  husband.  The  old  gentleman  was  cer- 
tainly going  to  have  an  attack,  for  he  had  forgotten  to  put 
on  his  slippers  when  he  came  downstairs  to  fetch  some 
water  in  the  morning ;  and,  besides,  he  went  on  talking  to 
himself,  and  looked  dreadfully  upset.  The  most  extraordi- 
nary incident  of  the  day,  however,  was  that  after  lunch 
Morange  quite  forgot  himself,  and  was  an  hour  late  in 
returning  to  his  office,  a  lack  of  punctuality  which  had  no 
precedent,  which,  in  the  memory  of  everybody  at  the 
works,  had  never  occurred  before. 


FRUITFULNESS  421 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Morange  had  been  carried  away  as 
by  a  storm,  and,  walking  straight  before  him,  had  once 
more  found  himself  on  the  Crenelle  bridge,  where  Denis 
had  one  day  saved  him  from  the  fascination  of  the  water. 
And  some  force,  some  impulse  had  carried  him  again  to  the 
very  same  spot,  and  made  him  lean  over  the  same  parapet, 
gazing,  in  the  same  way  as  previously,  at  the  flowing  river. 
Ever  since  the  previous  evening  he  had  been  repeating  the 
same  words,  words  which  he  stammered  in  an  undertone, 
and  which  haunted  and  tortured  him.  "  Would  he  allow 
that  fresh  crime  to  be  committed  without  shouting  aloud 
what  he  knew  ? "  No  doubt  it  was  those  words,  of  which 
he  could  not  rid  himself,  that  had  made  him  forget  to  put 
on  his  slippers  in  the  morning,  and  that  had  just  now  again 
dazed  him  to  the  point  of  preventing  him  from  returning 
to  the  factory,  as  if  he  no  longer  recognized  the  entrance 
as  he  passed  it.  And  if  he  were  at  present  leaning  over 
that  water,  had  he  not  been  impelled  thither  by  an  uncon- 
scious desire  to  have  done  with  all  his  troubles,  an  instinc- 
tive hope  of  drowning  the  torment  into  which  he  was  thrown 
by  those  stubbornly  recurring  words  ?  Down  below,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  river,  those  words  would  at  last  cease ; 
he  would  no  longer  repeat  them  ;  he  would  no  longer  hear 
them  urging  him  to  an  act  of  energy  for  which  he  could 
not  find  sufficient  strength.  And  the  call  of  the  water  was 
very  gentle,  and  it  would  be  so  pleasant  to  have  to  struggle 
no  longer,  to  yield  to  destiny,  like  a  poor  soft-hearted 
weakling  who  has  lived  too  long. 

Morange  leant  forward  more  and  more,  and  in  fancy 
could  already  feel  the  sonorous  river  seizing  him,  when  a 
gay  young  voice  in  the  rear  recalled  him  to  reality. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at,  Monsieur  Morange  ?  Are 
there  any  big  fishes  there  ?  " 

It  was  Hortense,  looking  extremely  pretty,  and  tall  al- 
ready for  her  ten  years,  whom  a  maid  was  conducting  on  a 
visit  to  some  little  friends  at  Auteuil.  And  when  the  dis- 
tracted accountant  turned  round,  he  remained  for  a  moment 
with  trembling  hands,  and  eyes  moist  with  tears,  at  the 


422  FRUITFULNESS 

sight  of  that  apparition,  that  dear  angel,  who  had  recalled 
him  from  so  far. 

"  What !  is  it  you,  my  pet !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  No,  no, 
there  are  no  big  fishes.  I  think  that  they  hide  at  the 
bottom  because  the  water  is  so  cold  in  winter.  Are  you 
going  on  a  visit  ?  You  look  quite  beautiful  in  that  fur- 
trimmed  cloak  !  " 

The  little  girl  began  to  laugh,  well  pleased  at  being 
flattered  and  loved,  for  her  old  friend's  voice  quivered  with 
adoration. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  am  very  happy ;  there  are  to  be  some  pri- 
vate theatricals  where  I'm  going.  Oh !  it  is  amusing  to 
feel  happy  !  " 

She  spoke  those  words  like  his  own  Reine  might  formerly 
have  spoken  them,  and  he  could  have  gone  down  on  his 
knees  to  kiss  her  little  hands  like  an  idol's. 

u  But  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  always  be  happy," 
he  replied.  "  You  look  so  beautiful,  I  must  really  kiss  you." 

"  Oh  !  you  may,  Monsieur  Morange,  I'm  quite  willing. 
Ah !  you  know  the  doll  you  gave  me  ;  her  name's  Margot, 
and  you  have  no  idea  how  good  she  is.  Come  to  see  her 
some  day." 

He  had  kissed  her;  and  with  glowing  heart,  ready  for 
martyrdom,  he  watched  her  as  she  went  off  in  the  pale 
light  of  winter.  What  he  had  thought  of  would  be  too 
cowardly  :  besides,  that  child  must  be  happy  ! 

He  slowly  quitted  the  bridge,  while  within  him  the 
haunting  words  rang  out  with  decisive  distinctness,  demand- 
ing a  reply  :  "  Would  he  allow  that  fresh  crime  to  be  com- 
mitted without  shouting  aloud  what  he  knew  ?  "  No,  no ! 
It  was  impossible  :  he  would  speak,  he  would  act.  Never- 
theless, his  mind  remained  clouded,  befogged.  How  could 
he  speak,  how  could  he  act  ? 

Then,  to  crown  his  extravagant  conduct,  utterly  breaking 
away  from  the  habits  of  forty  years,  he  no  sooner  returned 
to  the  office  than,  instead  of  immediately  plunging  into  his 
everlasting  additions,  he  began  to  write  a  long  letter. 
This  letter,  which  was  addressed  to  Mathieu,  recounted 


FRUITFULNESS  423 

the  whole  affair  —  Alexandre's  resurrection,  Constance's 
plans,  and  the  service  which  he  himself  had  promised  to 
render  her.  These  things  were  set  down  simply  as  his 
impulse  dictated,  like  a  kind  of  confession  by  which  he 
relieved  his  feelings.  He  had  not  yet  come  to  any  positive 
decision  as  to  how  he  should  play  the  part  of  a  justiciar, 
which  seemed  so  heavy  to  his  shoulders.  His  one  purpose 
was  to  warn  Mathieu  in  order  that  there  might  be  two  of 
them  to  decide  and  act.  And  he  simply  finished  by  asking 
the  other  to  come  to  see  him  on  the  following  evening, 
though  not  before  six  o'clock,  as  he  desired  to  see  Alex- 
andre  and  learn  how  the  interview  passed  off,  and  what 
Constance  might  require  of  the  young  man. 

The  ensuing  night,  the  ensuing  day,  must  have  been  full 
of  abominable  torment  for  Morange.  The  doorkeeper's 
wife  recounted,  later  on,  that  the  fourth-floor  tenant  had 
heard  the  old  gentleman  walking  about  overhead  all  through 
the  night.  Doors  were  slammed,  and  furniture  was  dragged 
about  as  if  for  a  removal.  It  was  even  thought  that  one 
could  detect  cries,  sobs,  and  the  monologues  of  a  madman 
addressing  phantoms,  some  mysterious  rendering  of  wor- 
ship to  the  dead  who  haunted  him.  And  at  the  works 
during  the  day  which  followed  Morange  gave  alarming 
signs  of  distress,  of  the  final  sinking  of  his  mind  into  a 
flood  of  gloom.  Ever  darting  troubled  glances  around  him, 
he  was  tortured  by  internal  combats,  which,  without  the 
slightest  motive,  made  him  descend  the  stairs  a  dozen  times, 
linger  before  the  machinery  in  motion,  and  then  return  to 
his  additions  up  above,  with  the  bewildered,  distracted  air 
of  one  who  could  not  find  what  he  sought  so  painfully. 
When  the  darkness  fell,  about  four  o'clock  on  that  gloomy 
winter  day,  the  two  clerks  whom  he  had  with  him  in  his 
office  noticed  that  he  altogether  ceased  working.  From 
that  moment,  indeed,  he  waited  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  clock.  And  when  five  o'clock  struck  he  once  more 
made  sure  that  a  certain  total  was  correct,  then  rose  and 
went  out,  leaving  the  ledger  open,  as  if  he  meant  to  return 
to  check  the  next  addition. 


424  FRUITFULNESS 

He  followed  the  gallery  which  led  to  the  passage  con- 
necting the  workshops  with  the  private  house.  The  whole 
factory  was  at  that  hour  lighted  up,  electric  lamps  cast  the 
brightness  of  daylight  over  it,  while  the  stir  of  work  as- 
cended and  the  walls  shook  amid  the  rumbling  of  machin- 
ery. And  all  at  once,  before  reaching  the  passage, 
Morange  perceived  the  lift,  the  terrible  cavity,  the  abyss 
of  murder  in  which  Blaise  had  met  his  death  fourteen  years 
previously.  Subsequent  to  that  catastrophe,  and  in  order 
to  prevent  the  like  of  it  from  ever  occurring  again,  the  trap 
had  been  surrounded  by  a  balustrade  with  a  gate,  in  such 
wise  that  a  fall  became  impossible  unless  one  should  open 
the  gate  expressly  to  take  a  plunge.  At  that  moment  the 
trap  was  lowered  and  the  gate  was  closed,  and  Morange, 
yielding  to  some  superior  force,  bent  over  the  cavity,  shud- 
dering. The  whole  scene  of  long  ago  rose  up  before  him; 
he  was  again  in  the  depths  of  that  frightful  void ;  he  could 
see  the  crushed  corpse ;  and  he  could  feel  the  gust  of  ter- 
ror chilling  him  in  the  presence  of  murder,  accepted  and 
concealed.  Since  he  suffered  so  dreadfully,  since  he  could 
no  longer  sleep,  since  he  had  promised  his  dear  dead  ones 
that  he  would  join  them,  why  should  he  not  make  an  end 
of  himself?  Two  days  previously,  while  leaning  over  the 
parapet  of  the  Grenelle  bridge,  a  desire  to  do  so  had  taken 
possession  of  him.  He  merely  had  to  lose  his  equilibrium 
and  he  would  be  liberated,  laid  to  rest  in  the  peaceful  earth 
between  his  wife  and  his  daughter.  And,  all  at  once,  as  if  the 
abyss  itself  suggested  to  him  the  frightful  solution  for  which 
he  had  been  vainly  groping,  in  his  growing  madness,  for 
two  days  past,  he  thought  that  he  could  hear  a  voice  call- 
ing him  from  below,  the  voice  of  Blaise,  which  cried : 
"  Come  with  the  other  one  !  Come  with  the  other  one  !  " 

He  started  violently  and  drew  himself  erect ;  decision 
had  fallen  on  him  in  a  lightning  flash.  Insane  as  he  was, 
that  appeared  to  him  to  be  the  one  sole  logical,  mathemati- 
cal, sensible  solution,  which  would  settle  everything.  It 
seemed  to  him  so  simple,  too,  that  he  was  astonished  that  he 
had  sought  it  so  long.  And  from  that  moment  this  poor  soft- 


FRUITFULNESS  425 

hearted  weakling,  whose  wretched  brain  was  unhinged,  gave 
proof  of  iron  will  and  sovereign  heroism,  assisted  by  the 
clearest  reasoning,  the  most  subtle  craft. 

In  the  first  place  he  prepared  everything,  set  the  catch  to 
prevent  the  trap  from  being  sent  up  again  in  his  absence, 
and  also  assured  himself  that  the  balustrade  door  opened 
and  closed  easily.  He  came  and  went  with  a  light,  aerial 
step,  as  if  carried  off  his  feet,  with  his  eyes  ever  on  the 
alert,  anxious  as  he  was  to  be  neither  seen  nor  heard.  At 
last  he  extinguished  the  three  electric  lamps  and  plunged 
the  gallery  into  darkness.  From  below,  through  the  gap- 
ing cavity  the  stir  of  the  working  factory,  the  rumbling  of 
the  machinery  ever  ascended.  And  it  was  only  then, 
everything  being  ready,  that  Morange  turned  into  the 
passage  to  betake  himself  to  the  little  drawing  room  of  the 
mansion. 

Constance  was  there  waiting  for  him  with  Alexandre. 
She  had  given  instructions  for  the  latter  to  call  half-an-hour 
earlier,  for  she  wished  to  confess  him  while  as  yet  telling 
him  nothing  of  the  real  position  which  she  meant  him  to 
take  in  the  house.  She  was  not  disposed  to  place  herself 
all  at  once  at  his  mercy,  and  had  therefore  simply  expressed 
her  willingness  to  give  him  employment  in  accordance  with 
the  recommendation  of  her  relative,  the  Baroness  de  Lowicz. 
Nevertheless,  she  studied  him  with  restrained  ardor,  and 
was  well  pleased  to  find  that  he  was  strong,  sturdy,  and 
resolute,  with  a  hard  face  lighted  by  terrible  eyes,  which 
promised  her  an  avenger.  She  would  finish  polishing  him 
up,  and  then  he  would  suit  her  perfectly.  For  his  part, 
without  plainly  understanding  the  truth,  he  scented  some- 
thing, divined  that  his  fortune  was  at  hand,  and  was  quite 
ready  to  wait  awhile  for  the  certain  feast,  like  a  young  wolf 
who  consents  to  be  domesticated  in  order  that  he  may,  later 
on,  devour  the  whole  flock  at  his  ease. 

When  Morange  went  in  only  one  thing  struck  him, 
Alexandre's  resemblance  to  Beauchene,  that  extraordinary 
resemblance  which  had  already  upset  Constance,  and  which 
now  sent  an  icy  chill  through  the  old  accountant  as  if  in 


426  FRUITFULNESS 

purposing  to  carry  out  his  idea  he  had  condemned  his  old 
master. 

"  I  was  waiting  for  you,  my  friend ;  you  are  late,  you 
who  are  so  punctual  as  a  rule,"  said  Constance. 

"  Yes,  there  was  a  little  work  which  I  wished  to  finish." 

But  she  had  merely  been  jesting,  she  felt  so  happy.  And 
she  immediately  settled  everything :  "  Well,  here  is  the 
gentleman  whom  I  spoke  about,"  she  said.  "  You  will 
begin  by  taking  him  with  you  and  making  him  acquainted 
with  the  business,  even  if  in  the  first  instance  you  can 
merely  send  him  about  on  commissions  for  you.  It  is 
understood,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Quite  so,  dear  madame,  I  will  take  him  with  me ;  you 
may  rely  on  me." 

Then,  as  she  gave  Alexandre  his  dismissal,  saying  that 
he  might  come  on  the  morrow,  Morange  offered  to  show 
him  out  by  way  of  his  office  and  the  workshops,  which 
were  still  open. 

"  In  that  way  he  will  form  an  acquaintance  with  the 
works,  and  can  come  straight  to  me  to-morrow." 

Constance  laughed  again,  so  fully  did  the  accountant's 
obligingness  reassure  her. 

"That  is  a  good  idea,  my  friend,"  she  said.  " Thank 
you.  And  au  revoir,  monsieur;  we  will  take  charge  of 
your  future  if  you  behave  sensibly." 

At  this  moment,  however,  she  was  thunderstruck  by  an 
extravagant  and  seemingly  senseless  incident.  Morange, 
having  shown  Alexandre  out  of  the  little  salon,  in  advance 
of  himself,  turned  round  towards  her  with  the  sudden  gri- 
mace of  a  madman,  revealing  his  insanity  by  the  distortion 
of  his  countenance.  And  in  a  low,  familiar,  sneering  voice, 
he  stammered  in  her  face  :  "  Ha  !  ha  !  Blaise  at  the  bottom 
of  the  hole  !  He  speaks,  he  has  spoken  to  me  !  Ha  !  ha  ! 
the  somersault !  you  would  have  the  somersault !  And  you 
shall  have  it  again,  the  somersault,  the  somersault !  " 

Then  he  disappeared,  following  Alexandre. 

She  had  listened  to  him  agape  with  wonder.  It  was  all 
so  unforeseen,  so  idiotic,  that  at  first  she  did  not  understand 


FRUITFULNESS  427 

it.  But  afterwards  what  a  flash  of  light  came  to  her  !  That 
which  Morange  had  referred  to  was  the  murder  yonder  — 
the  thing  to  which  they  had  never  referred,  the  monstrous 
thing  which  they  had  kept  buried  for  fourteen  years  past, 
which  their  glances  only  had  confessed,  but  which,  all  of  a 
sudden,  he  had  cast  in  her  teeth  with  the  grimace  of  a  mad- 
man. What  was  the  meaning  of  the  poor  fool's  diabolical 
rebellion,  the  dim  threat  which  she  had  felt  passing  like  a 
gust  from  an  abyss  ?  She  turned  frightfully  pale,  she  intui- 
tively foresaw  some  frightful  revenge  of  destiny,  that  destiny 
which,  only  a  moment  previously,  she  had  believed  to  be 
her  minion.  Yes,  it  was  surely  that.  And  she  felt  herself 
carried  fourteen  years  backward,  and  she  remained  standing, 
quivering,  icy  cold,  listening  to  the  sounds  which  arose  from 
the  works,  waiting  for  the  awful  thud  of  the  fall,  even  as 
on  the  distant  day  when  she  had  listened  and  waited  for  the 
other  to  be  crushed  and  killed. 

Meantime  Morange,  with  his  discreet,  short  step,  was 
leading  Alexandre  away,  and  speaking  to  him  in  a  quiet, 
good-natured  voice. 

"I  must  ask  your  pardon  for  going  first,  but  I  have  to 
show  you  the  way.  Oh  !  this  is  a  very  intricate  place, 
with  stairs  and  passages  whose  turns  and  twists  never  end. 
The  passage  now  turns  to  the  left,  you  see." 

Then,  on  reaching  the  gallery  where  the  darkness  was 
complete,  he  affected  anger  in  the  most  natural  manner 
possible. 

"  Ah  !  well,  that  is  just  their  way.  They  haven't  yet 
lighted  up  this  part.  The  switch  is  at  the  other  end. 
Fortunately  I  know  where  to  step,  for  I  have  been  going 
backwards  and  forwards  here  for  the  last  forty  years.  Mind ! 
follow  me  carefully." 

Thereupon,  at  each  successive  step,  he  warned  the  other 
what  he  ought  to  do,  guiding  him  along  in  his  obliging  way 
without  the  faintest  tremor  in  his  voice. 

"  Don't  let  go  of  me,  turn  to  the  left. Now  we 

merely  have  to  go  straight  ahead. Only,  wait  a  moment, 

a  barrier  intersects  the  gallery,  and  there  is  a  gate. 


428  FRUITFULNESS 

There  we  are !  I'm  opening  the  gate,  you  hear  ? 

Follow  me,  I'll  go  first." 

Morange  quietly  stepped  into  the  void,  amid  the  dark- 
ness. And,  without  a  cry,  he  fell.  Alexandre  who  was 
close  in  the  rear,  almost  touching  him  so  as  not  to  lose  him, 
certainly  detected  the  void  and  the  gust  which  followed  the 
fall,  as  with  sudden  horror  the  flooring  failed  beneath  them ; 
but  force  of  motion  carried  him  on,  he  stepped  forward  in 
his  turn,  howled  and  likewise  fell,  head  over  heels.  Both 
were  smashed  below,  both  killed  at  once.  True,  Morange 
still  breathed  for  a  few  seconds.  Alexandre,  for  his  part, 
lay  with  his  skull  broken  to  pieces  and  his  brains  scattered 
on  the  very  spot  where  Blaise  had  been  picked  up. 

Horrible  was  the  stupefaction  when  those  bodies  were 
found  there.  Nobody  could  explain  the  catastrophe.  Mo- 
range carried  off  his  secret,  the  reason  for  that  savage  act  of 
justice  which  he  had  accomplished  according  to  the  chance 
suggestions  of  his  dementia.  Perhaps  he  had  wished  to 
punish  Constance,  perhaps  he  had  desired  to  repair  the  old 
wrong :  Denis  long  since  stricken  in  the  person  of  his 
brother,  and  now  saved  for  the  sake  of  his  daughter  Hor- 
tense,  who  would  live  happily  with  Margot,  the  pretty  doll 
who  was  so  good.  By  suppressing  the  criminal  instrument 
the  old  accountant  had  indeed  averted  the  possibility  of  a 
fresh  crime.  Swayed  by  his  fixed  idea,  however,  he  had 
doubtless  never  reasoned  that  cataclysmic  deed  of  justice, 
which  was  above  reason,  and  which  passed  by  with  the 
impassive  savagery  of  a  death-dealing  hurricane. 

At  the  works  there  was  but  one  opinion,  Morange  had 
assuredly  been  mad ;  and  he  alone  could  have  caused  the 
accident,  particularly  as  it  was  impossible  to  account,  other- 
wise than  by  an  act  of  madness,  for  the  extinguishing  of 
the  lights,  the  opening  of  the  balustrade-door,  and  the 
plunge  into  the  cavity  which  he  knew  to  be  there,  and  into 
which  had  followed  him  the  unfortunate  young  man  his 
companion.  Moreover,  the  accountant's  madness  was  no 
longer  doubted  by  anybody  a  few  days  later,  when  the  door- 
keeper of  his  house  related  his  final  eccentricities,  and  a 


FRUITFULNESS  429 

commissary  of  police  went  to  search  his  rooms.  He  had 
been  mad,  mad  enough  to  be  placed  in  confinement. 

To  begin,  nobody  had  ever  seen  a  flat  in  such  an  extraor- 
dinary condition,  the  kitchen  a  perfect  stable,  the  drawing- 
room  in  a  state  of  utter  abandonment  with  its  Louis  XIV. 
furniture  gray  with  dust,  and  the  dining-room  all  topsy- 
turvy, the  old  oak  tables  and  chairs  being  piled  up  against 
the  window  as  if  to  shut  out  every  ray  of  light,  though 
nobody  could  tell  why.  The  only  properly  kept  room  was 
that  in  which  Reine  had  formerly  slept,  which  was  as  clean 
as  a  sanctuary,  with  its  pitch-pine  furniture  as  bright  as  if 
it  had  been  polished  every  day.  But  the  apartment  in  which 
Morange's  madness  became  unmistakably  manifest  was  his 
own  bedchamber,  which  he  had  turned  into  a  museum  of 
souvenirs,  covering  its  walls  with  photographs  of  his  wife 
and  daughter.  Above  a  table  there,  the  wall  facing  the 
window  quite  disappeared  from  view,  for  a  sort  of  little 
chapel  had  been  set  up,  decked  with  a  multitude  of  portraits. 
In  the  centre  were  photographs  of  Valerie  and  Reine,  both 
of  them  at  twenty  years  of  age,  so  that  they  looked  like 
twin  sisters ;  while  symmetrically  disposed  all  around  was 
an  extraordinary  number  of  other  portraits,  again  showing 
Valerie  and  Reine,  now  as  children,  now  as  girls,  and  now 
as  women,  in  every  sort  of  position,  too,  and  every  kind  of 
toilet.  And  below  them  on  the  table,  like  an  offering  on 
an  altar,  was  found  more  than  one  hundred  thousand  francs, 
in  gold,  and  silver,  and  even  copper ;  indeed,  the  whole  for- 
tune which  Morange  had  been  saving  up  for  several  years 
by  eating  only  dry  bread,  like  a  pauper. 

At  last,  then,  one  knew  what  he  had  done  with  his  sav- 
ings ;  he  had  given  them  to  his  dead  wife  and  daughter, 
who  had  remained  his  will,  passion,  and  ambition.  Haunted 
by  remorse  at  having  killed  them  while  dreaming  of  mak- 
ing them  rich,  he  reserved  for  them  that  money  which  they 
had  so  keenly  desired,  and  which  they  would  have  spent 
with  so  much  ardor.  It  was  still  and  ever  for  them  that  he 
earned  it,  and  he  took  it  to  them,  lavished  it  upon  them, 
never  devoting  even  a  tithe  of  it  to  any  egotistical  pleasure, 


430  FRUITFULNESS 

absorbed  as  he  was  in  his  vision-fraught  worship  and  eager 
to  pacify  and  cheer  their  spirits.  And  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood gossiped  endlessly  about  the  old  mad  gentleman  who 
had  let  himself  die  of  wretchedness  by  the  side  of  a  perfect 
treasure,  piled  coin  by  coin  upon  a  table,  and  for  twenty 
years  past  tendered  to  the  portraits  of  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter, even  as  flowers  might  have  been  offered  to  their  memory. 

About  six  o'clock,  when  Mathieu  reached  the  works,  he 
found  the  place  terrified  by  the  catastrophe.  Ever  since 
the  morning  he  had  been  rendered  anxious  by  Morange's 
letter,  which  had  greatly  surprised  and  worried  him  with 
that  extraordinary  story  of  Alexandre  turning  up  once  more, 
being  welcomed  by  Constance,  and  introduced  by  her  into 
the  establishment.  Plain  as  was  the  greater  part  of  the 
letter,  it  contained  some  singularly  incoherent  passages,  and 
darted  from  one  point  to  another  with  incomprehensible 
suddenness.  Mathieu  had  read  it  three  times,  indulging  on 
each  occasion  in  fresh  hypotheses  of  a  gloomier  and  gloomier 
nature ;  for  the  more  he  reflected,  the  more  did  the  affair 
seem  to  him  to  be  fraught  with  menace.  Then,  on  reach- 
ing the  rendezvous  appointed  by  Morange,  he  found  him- 
self in  presence  of  those  bleeding  bodies  which  Victor 
Moineaud  had  just  picked  up  and  laid  out  side  by  side ! 
Silent,  chilled  to  his  bones,  Mathieu  listened  to  his  son, 
Denis,  who  had  hastened  up  to  tell  him  of  the  unexplainable 
misfortune,  the  two  men  falling  one  atop  of  the  other,  first 
the  old  mad  accountant,  and  then  the  young  fellow  whom 
nobody  knew  and  who  seemed  to  have  dropped  from 
heaven. 

Mathieu,  for  his  part,  had  immediately  recognized  Alex- 
andre, and  if,  pale  and  terrified,  he  kept  silent  on  the  sub- 
ject, it  was  because  he  desired  to  take  nobody,  not  even  his 
son,  into  his  confidence,  given  the  fresh  suppositions,  the 
frightful  suppositions,  which  now  arose  in  his  mind  from 
out  of  all  the  darkness.  He  listened  with  growing  anxiety 
to  the  enumeration  of  the  few  points  which  were  certain : 
the  extinguishing  of  the  electric  lights  in  the  gallery  and  the 
opening  of  the  balustrade  door,  which  was  always  kept 


FRUITFULNESS  431 

closed  and  could  only  have  been  opened  by  some  habitue, 
since,  to  turn  the  handle,  one  had  to  press  a  secret  spring 
which  kept  it  from  moving.  And,  all  at  once,  as  Victor 
Moineaud  pointed  out  that  the  old  man  had  certainly  been 
the  first  to  fall,  since  one  of  the  young  man's  legs  had  been 
stretched  across  his  stomach,  Mathieu  was  carried  fourteen 
years  backward.  He  remembered  old  Moineaud  picking  up 
Blaise  on  the  very  spot  where  Victor,  the  son,  had  just 
picked  up  Morange  and  Alexandre.  Blaise  !  At  the  thought 
of  his  dead  boy  fresh  light  came  to  Mathieu,  a  frightful 
suspicion  blazed  up  amid  the  terrible  obscurity  in  which  he 
had  been  groping  and  doubting.  And,  thereupon,  leaving 
Denis  to  settle  everything  down  below,  he  decided  to  see 
Constance. 

Up  above,  however,  when  Mathieu  was  on  the  point  of 
turning  into  the  communicating  passage,  he  paused  once 
more,  this  time  near  the  lift.  It  was  there,  fourteen  years 
previously,  that  Morange,  finding  the  trap  open,  had  gone 
down  to  warn  and  chide  the  workmen,  while  Constance, 
according  to  her  own  account,  had  quietly  returned  into  the 
house,  at  the  very  moment  when  Blaise,  coming  from  the 
other  end  of  the  dim  gallery,  plunged  into  the  gulf.  Every- 
body had  eventually  accepted  that  narrative  as  being  accu- 
rate, but  Mathieu  now  felt  that  it  was  mendacious.  He 
could  recall  various  glances,  various  words,  various  spells  of 
silence ;  and  sudden  certainty  came  upon  him,  a  certainty 
based  on  all  the  petty  things  which  he  had  not  then  under- 
stood, but  which  now  assumed  the  most  frightful  significance. 
Yes,  it  was  certain,  even  though  round  it  there  hovered  the 
monstrous  vagueness  of  silent  crimes,  cowardly  crimes,  over 
which  a  shadow  of  horrible  mystery  always  lurks.  More- 
over, it  explained  the  sequel,  those  two  bodies  lying  below, 
as  far,  that  is,  as  logical  reasoning  can  explain  a  madman's 
action  with  all  its  gaps  and  mysteriousness.  Nevertheless, 
Mathieu  still  strove  to  doubt ;  before  anything  else  he 
wished  to  see  Constance. 

Showing  a  waxy  pallor,  she  had  remained  erect,  motion- 
less, in  the  middle  of  her  little  drawing-room.  The  waiting 


43  2 


FRUITFULNESS 


of  fourteen  years  previously  had  begun  once  more,  lasting  on 
and  on,  and  filling  her  with  such  anxiety  that  she  held  her 
breath  the  better  to  listen.  Nothing,  no  stir,  no  sound  of 
footsteps,  had  yet  ascended  from  the  works.  What  could 
be  happening  then  ?  Was  the  hateful  thing,  the  dreaded 
thing,  merely  a  nightmare  after  all  ?  Yet  Morange  had 
really  sneered  in  her  face,  she  had  fully  understood  him. 
Had  not  a  howl,  the  thud  of  a  fall,  just  reached  her  ears  ?  And 
now,  had  not  the  rumbling  of  the  machinery  ceased  ?  It 
was  death,  the  factory  silent,  chilled  and  lost  for  her.  All 
at  once  her  heart  ceased  beating  as  she  detected  a  sound  of 
footsteps  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  with  increased  rapidity. 
The  door  opened,  and  it  was  Mathieu  who  came  in. 

She  recoiled,  livid,  as  at  the  sight  of  a  ghost.  He,  O 
God  !  Why  he  ?  How  was  it  he  was  there  ?  Of  all  the 
messengers  of  misfortune  he  was  the  one  whom  she  had 
least  expected.  Had  the  dead  son  risen  before  her  she 
would  not  have  shuddered  more  dreadfully  than  she  did  at 
this  apparition  of  the  father. 

She  did  not  speak.  He  simply  said  :  "  They  made  the 
plunge,  they  are  both  dead  —  like  Blaise." 

Then,  though  she  still  said  nothing,  she  looked  at  him. 
For  a  moment  their  eyes  met.  And  in  her  glance  he  read 
everything  :  the  murder  was  begun  afresh,  effected,  con- 
summated. Over  yonder  lay  the  bodies,  dead,  one  atop 
of  the  other. 

"  Wretched  woman,  to  what  monstrous  perversity  have 
you  fallen  !  And  how  much  blood  there  is  upon  you !  " 

By  an  effort  of  supreme  pride  Constance  was  able  to 
draw  herself  up  and  even  increase  her  stature,  still  wishing 
to  conquer,  and  cry  aloud  that  she  was  indeed  the  mur- 
deress, that  she  had  always  thwarted  him,  and  would  ever 
do  so.  But  Mathieu  was  already  overwhelming  her  with 
a  final  revelation. 

"  You  don't  know,  then,  that  that  ruffian,  Alexandre, 
was  one  of  the  murderers  of  your  friend,  Madame  Angeltn, 
the  poor  woman  who  was  robbed  and  strangled  one  winter 
afternoon.  I  compassionately  hid  that  from  you.  But  he 


FRUITFULNESS  433 

would  now  be  at  the  galleys  had  I  spoken  out !  And  if  I 
were  to  speak  to-day  you  would  be  there  too  !  " 

That  was  the  hatchet-stroke.  She  did  not  speak,  but 
dropped,  all  of  a  lump,  upon  the  carpet,  like  a  tree  which 
has  been  felled.  This  time  her  defeat  was  complete ;  des- 
tiny, which  she  awaited,  had  turned  against  her  and  thrown 
her  to  the  ground.  A  mother  the  less,  perverted  by  the 
love  which  she  had  set  on  her  one  child,  a  mother  duped, 
robbed,  and  maddened,  who  had  glided  into  murder  amid 
the  dementia  born  of  inconsolable  motherliness  !  And 
now  she  lay  there,  stretched  out,  scraggy  and  withered, 
poisoned  by  the  affection  which  she  had  been  unable  to 
bestow. 

Mathieu  became  anxious,  and  summoned  the  old  ser- 
vant, who,  after  procuring  assistance,  carried  her  mistress 
to  her  bed  and  then  undressed  her.  Meantime,  as  Con- 
stance gave  no  sign  of  life,  seized  as  she  was  by  one  of 
those  fainting  fits  which  often  left  her  quite  breathless, 
Mathieu  himself  went  for  Boutan,  and  meeting  him  just 
as  he  was  returning  home  for  dinner,  was  luckily  able  to 
bring  him  back  at  once. 

Boutan,  who  was  now  nearly  seventy-two,  and  was 
quietly  spending  his  last  years  in  serene  cheerfulness,  born 
of  his  hope  in  life,  had  virtually  ceased  practising,  only 
attending  a  very  few  old  patients,  his  friends.  However, 
he  did  not  refuse  Mathieu's  request.  When  he  had  exam- 
ined Constance  he  made  a  gesture  of  hopelessness,  the 
meaning  of  which  was  so  plain  that  Mathieu,  his  anxiety 
increasing,  bethought  himself  of  trying  to  find  Beauchene 
in  order  that  the  latter  might,  at  least,  be  present  if  his 
wife  should  die.  But  the  old  servant,  on  being  questioned, 
began  by  raising  her  arms  to  heaven.  She  did  not  know 
where  Monsieur  might  be,  Monsieur  never  left  any  address. 
At  last,  feeling  frightened  herself,  she  made  up  her  mind 
to  hasten  to  the  abode  of  the  two  women,  aunt  and  niece, 
with  whom  Beauchene  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time. 
She  knew  their  address  perfectly  well,  as  her  mistress  had 
even  sent  her  thither  in  pressing  emergencies.  But  she 


434 


FRUITFULNESS 


learnt  that  the  ladies  had  gone  with  Monsieur  to  Nice  for 
a  holiday  ;  whereupon,  not  desiring  to  return  without 
some  member  of  the  family,  she  was  seized  on  her  way 
back  with  the  fine  idea  of  calling  on  Monsieur's  sister,  the 
Baroness  de  Lowicz,  whom  she  brought,  almost  by  force, 
in  her  cab. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Boutan  attempted  treatment.  When 
Constance  opened  her  eyes  again,  she  looked  at  him 
fixedly,  recognized  him,  no  doubt,  and  then  lowered  her 
eyelids.  And  from  that  moment  she  obstinately  refused 
to  reply  to  any  question  that  was  put  to  her.  She  must 
have  heard  and  have  known  that  people  were  there,  trying 
to  succor  her.  But  she  would  have  none  of  their  suc- 
cor, she  was  stubbornly  intent  on  dying,  on  giving  no 
further  sign  of  life.  Neither  did  she  raise  her  eyelids,  nor 
did  her  lips  part  again.  It  was  as  if  she  had  already 
quitted  the  world  amid  the  mute  agony  of  her  defeat. 

That  evening  Seraphtne's  manner  was  extremely  strange. 
She  reeked  of  ether,  for  she  drank  ether  now.  When  she 
heard  of  the  two-fold  "  accident,"  the  death  of  Morange 
and  that  of  Alexandre,  which  had  brought  on  Constance's 
cardiacal  attack,  she  simply  gave  an  insane  grin,  a  kind  of 
involuntary  snigger,  and  stammered  :  "  Ah !  that's  funny." 

Though  she  removed  neither  her  hat  nor  her  gloves,  she 
installed  herself  in  an  armchair,  where  she  sat  waiting,  with 
her  eyes  wide  open  and  staring  straight  before  her  —  those 
brown  eyes  flecked  with  gold,  whose  living  light  was  all 
that  she  had  retained  of  her  massacred  beauty.  At  sixty- 
two  she  looked  like  a  centenarian  ;  her  bold,  insolent  face 
was  ravined,  as  it  were,  by  her  stormy  life,  and  the  glow 
of  her  sun-like  hair  had  been  extinguished  by  a  shower  of 
ashes.  And  time  went  on,  midnight  approached,  and  she 
was  still  there,  near  that  death-bed  of  which  she  seemed  to 
be  ignorant,  in  that  quivering  chamber  where  she  forgot 
herself,  similar  to  a  mere  thing,  apparently  no  longer  even 
knowing  why  she  had  been  brought  thither. 

Mathieu  and  Boutan  had  been  unwilling  to  retire.  Since 
Monsieur  was  at  Nice  in  the  company  of  those  ladies,  the 


FRUITFULNESS  435 

aunt  and  the  niece,  they  decided  to  spend  the  night  there  in 
order  that  Constance  might  not  be  left  alone  with  the  old 
servant.  And  towards  midnight,  while  they  were  chatting 
together  in  undertones,  they  were  suddenly  stupefied  at 
hearing  Seraphine  raise  her  voice,  after  preserving  silence 
for  three  hours. 

"  He  is  dead,  you  know,"  said  she. 

Who  was  dead  ?  At  last  they  understood  that  she 
referred  to  Dr.  Gaude.  The  celebrated  surgeon,  had, 
indeed,  been  found  in  his  consulting-room  struck  down  by 
sudden  death,  the  cause  of  which  was  not  clearly  known. 
In  fact,  the  strangest,  the  most  horrible  and  tragical  stories 
were  current  on  the  subject.  According  to  one  of  them  a 
patient  had  wreaked  vengeance  on  the  doctor ;  and  Mathieu, 
full  of  emotion,  recalled  that  one  day,  long  ago,  Seraphine 
herself  had  suggested  that  all  Gaude's  unhappy  patients 
ought  to  band  themselves  together  and  put  an  end  to  him. 

When  Seraphine  perceived  that  Mathieu  was  gazing  at 
her,  as  in  a  nightmare,  moved  by  the  shuddering  silence  of 
that  death-watch,  she  once  more  grinned  like  a  lunatic, 
and  said  :  "  He  is  dead,  we  were  all  there  !  " 

It  was  insane,  improbable,  impossible  ;  and  yet  was  it 
true  or  was  it  false  ?  A  cold,  terrifying  quiver  swept  by, 
the  icy  quiver  of  mystery,  of  that  which  one  knows  not, 
which  one  will  never  know. 

Boutan  leant  towards  Mathieu  and  whispered  in  his 
ear :  "  She  will  be  raving  mad  and  shut  up  in  a  padded  cell 
before  a  week  is  over."  And,  indeed,  a  week  later  the 
Baroness  de  Lowicz  was  wearing  a  straight  waistcoat.  In 
her  case  Dr.  Gaude's  treatment  had  led  to  absolute  insanity. 

Mathieu  and  Boutan  watched  beside  Constance  until 
daybreak.  She  never  opened  her  lips,  nor  raised  her  eye- 
lids. As  the  sun  rose  up,  she  turned  towards  the  wall, 
and  then  she  died. 


XXII 

STILL  more  years  passed,  and  Mathieu  was  already  sixty- 
eight  and  Marianne  sixty-five,  when  amid  the  increasing 
good  fortune  which  they  owed  to  their  faith  in  life,  and 
their  long  courageous  hopefulness,  a  last  battle,  the  most 
dolorous  of  their  existence,  almost  struck  them  down  and 
sent  them  to  the  grave,  despairing  and  inconsolable. 

One  evening  Marianne  went  to  bed,  quivering,  utterly 
distracted.  Quite  a  rending  was  taking  place  in  the  family. 
A  disastrous  and  hateful  quarrel  had  set  the  mill,  where 
Gregoire  reigned  supreme,  against  the  farm  which  was 
managed  by  Gervais  and  Claire.  And  Ambroise,  on  being 
selected  as  arbiter,  had  fanned  the  flames  by  judging  the 
affair  in  a  purely  business  way  from  his  Paris  counting- 
house,  without  taking  into  account  the  various  passions 
which  were  kindled. 

It  was  on  returning  from  a  secret  application  to  Ambroise, 
prompted  by  a  maternal  longing  for  peace,  that  Marianne 
had  taken  to  her  bed,  wounded  to  the  heart,  and  terrified 
by  the  thought  of  the  future.  Ambroise  had  received  her 
roughly,  almost  brutally,  and  she  had  gone  back  home  in  a 
state  of  intense  anguish,  feeling  as  if  her  own  flesh  were 
lacerated  by  the  quarrelling  of  her  ungrateful  sons.  And 
she  had  kept  her  bed,  begging  Mathieu  to  say  nothing,  and 
explaining  that  a  doctor's  services  would  be  useless,  since 
she  did  not  suffer  from  any  malady.  She  was  fading  away, 
however,  as  he  could  well  detect;  she  was  day  by  day  taking 
leave  of  him,  carried  ofF  by  her  bitter  grief.  Was  it  possible 
that  all  those  loving  and  well-loved  children,  who  had  grown 
up  under  their  care  and  their  caresses,  who  had  become  the 
joy  and  pride  of  their  victory,  all  those  children  born  of  their 

436 


FRUITFULNESS  437 

love,  united  in  their  fidelity,  a  sacred  brotherly,  sisterly 
battalion  gathered  close  around  them,  was  it  possible  that 
they  should  now  disband  and  desperately  seek  to  destroy 
one  another?  If  so,  it  was  true,  then,  that  the  more 
a  family  increases,  the  greater  is  the  harvest  of  ingratitude. 
And  still  more  accurate  became  the  saying,  that  to  judge 
of  any  human  being's  happiness  or  unhappiness  in  life,  one 
must  wait  until  he  be  dead. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mathieu,  as  he  sat  near  Marianne's  bed, 
holding  her  feverish  hand,  "  to  think  of  it !  To  have 
struggled  so  much,  and  to  have  triumphed  so  much,  and 
then  to  encounter  this  supreme  grief,  which  will  bring  us 
more  pain  than  all  the  others.  Decidedly  it  is  true  that 
one  must  continue  battling  until  one's  last  breath,  and  that 
happiness  is  only  to  be  won  by  suffering  and  tears.  We 
must  still  hope,  still  triumph,  and  conquer  and  live." 

Marianne,  however,  had  lost  all  courage,  and  seemed  to 
be  overwhelmed. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  I  have  no  energy  left  me,  I  am  van- 
quished. I  was  always  able  to  heal  the  wounds  which 
came  from  without,  but  this  wound  comes  from  my  own 
blood ;  my  blood  pours  forth  within  me  and  stifles  me. 
All  our  work  is  destroyed.  Our  joy,  our  health,  our 
strength,  have  at  the  last  day  become  mere  lies." 

Then  Mathieu,  whom  her  grievous  fears  of  a  disaster 
gained,  went  off  to  weep  in  the  adjoining  room,  already 
picturing  his  wife  dead  and  himself  in  utter  solitude. 

It  was  with  reference  to  Lepailleur's  moorland,  the  plots 
intersecting  the  Chantebled  estate,  that  the  wretched  quar- 
rel had  broken  out  between  the  mill  and  the  farm.  For 
many  years  already,  the  romantic,  ivy-covered  old  mill,  with 
its  ancient  mossy  wheel,  had  ceased  to  exist.  Gregoire,  at 
last  putting  his  father's  ideas  into  execution,  had  thrown  it 
down  to  replace  it  by  a  large  steam  mill,  with  spacious 
meal-stores  which  a  light  railway-line  connected  with  Jan- 
ville  station.  And  he  himself,  since  he  had  been  making 
a  big  fortune  —  for  all  the  wheat  of  the  district  was  now 
sent  to  him  —  had  greatly  changed,  with  nothing  of  his 


4j8  FRUITFULNESS 

youthful  turbulence  left  save  a  quick  temper,  which  his 
wife  Therese  with  her  brave,  loving  heart  alone  could 
somewhat  calm.  On  a  score  of  occasions  he  had  almost 
broken  off  all  relations  with  his  father-in-law,  Lepailleur, 
who  certainly  abused  his  seventy  years.  Though  the  old 
miller,  in  spite  of  all  his  prophecies  of  ruin,  had  been  una- 
ble to  prevent  the  building  of  the  new  establishment,  he 
none  the  less  sneered  and  jeered  at  it,  exasperated  as  he  was 
at  having  been  in  the  wrong.  He  had,  in  fact*  been  beaten 
for  the  second  time.  Not  only  did  the  prodigious  crops  of 
Chantebled  disprove  his  theory  of  the  bankruptcy  of  the 
earth,  that  villainous  earth  in  which,  like  an  obstinate  peas- 
ant weary  of  toil  and  eager  for  speedy  fortune,  he  asserted 
nothing  more  would  grow  ;  but  now  that  mill  of  his,  which 
he  had  so  disdained,  was  born  as  it  were  afresh,  growing  to 
a  gigantic  size,  and  becoming  in  his  son-in-law's  hands  an 
instrument  of  great  wealth. 

The  worst  was  that  Lepailleur  so  stubbornly  lived  on, 
experiencing  continual  defeats,  but  never  willing  to  acknowl- 
edge that  he  was  beaten.  One  sole  delight  remained  to 
him,  the  promise  given  and  kept  by  Gregoire  that  he  would 
not  sell  the  moorland  enclosure  to  the  farm.  The  old  man 
had  even  prevailed  on  him  to  leave  it  uncultivated,  and  the 
sight  of  that  sterile  tract  intersecting  the  wavy  greenery 
of  the  beautiful  estate  of  Chantebled,  like  a  spot  of  desola- 
tion, well  pleased  his  spiteful  nature.  He  was  often  to  be 
seen  strolling  there,  like  an  old  king  of  the  stones  and  the 
brambles,  drawing  up  his  tall,  scraggy  figure  as  if  he  were 
quite  proud  of  the  poverty  of  that  soil.  In  going  thither 
one  of  his  objects  doubtless  was  to  find  a  pretext  for  a 
quarrel ;  for  it  was  he  who  in  the  course  of  one  of  these 
promenades,  when  he  displayed  such  provoking  insolence, 
discovered  an  encroachment  on  the  part  of  the  farm  —  an 
encroachment  which  his  comments  magnified  to  such  a 
degree  that  disastrous  consequences  seemed  probable.  As 
it  was,  all  the  happiness  of  the  Froments  was  for  a  time 
destroyed. 

In    business    matters    Gregoire    invariably    showed    the 


FRUITFULNESS  439 

rough  impulsiveness  of  a  man  of  sanguine  temperament, 
obstinately  determined  to  part  with  no  fraction  of  his 
rights.  When  his  father-in-law  told  him  that  the  farm 
had  impudently  cleared  some  seven  acres  of  his  moor- 
land, with  the  intention  no  doubt  of  carrying  this  fine 
robbery  even  further,  if  it  were  not  promptly  stopped,  Gre- 
goire  at  once  decided  to  inquire  into  the  matter,  declaring 
that  he  would  not  tolerate  any  invasion  of  that  sort.  The 
misfortune  then  was  that  no  boundary  stones  could  be 
found.  Thus,  the  people  of  the  farm  might  assert  that 
they  had  made  a  mistake  in  all  good  faith,  or  even  that 
they  had  remained  within  their  limits.  But  Lepailleur 
ragefully  maintained  the  contrary,  entered  into  particulars, 
and  traced  what  he  declared  to  be  the  proper  frontier  line 
with  his  stick,  swearing  that  within  a  few  inches  it  was 
absolutely  correct.  However,  matters  went  altogether  from 
bad  to  worse  after  an  interview  between  the  brothers,  Ger- 
vais  and  Gregoire,  in  the  course  of  which  the  latter  lost  his 
temper  and  indulged  in  unpardonable  language.  On  the 
morrow,  too,  he  began  an  action-at-law,  to  which  Gervais 
replied  by  threatening  that  he  would  not  send  another  grain 
of  corn  to  be  ground  at  the  mill.  And  this  rupture  of  busi- 
ness relations  meant  serious  consequences  for  the  mill,  which 
really  owed  its  prosperity  to  the  custom  of  Chantebled. 

From  that  moment  matters  grew  worse  each  day,  and 
conciliation  soon  seemed  to  be  out  of  the  question';  for 
Ambroise,  on  being  solicited  to  find  a  basis  of  agreement, 
became  in  his  turn  impassioned,  and  even  ended  by  enraging 
both  parties.  Thus  the  hateful  ravages  of  that  fratricidal 
war  were  increased  :  there  were  now  three  brothers  up  in 
arms  against  one  another.  And  did  not  this  forebode  the 
end  of  everything ;  might  not  this  destructive  fury  gain  the 
whole  family,  overwhelming  it  as  with  a  blast  of  folly  and 
hatred  after  so  many  years  of  sterling  good  sense  and  strong 
and  healthy  affection  ? 

Mathieu  naturally  tried  to  intervene.  But  at  the  very 
outset  he  felt  that  if  he  should  fail,  if  his  paternal  authority 
should  be  disregarded,  the  disaster  would  become  irreparable. 


44o  FRUITFULNESS 

Without  renouncing  the  struggle,  he  therefore  waited  for 
some  opportunity  which  he  might  turn  to  good  account.  At 
the  same  time,  each  successive  day  of  discord  increased  his 
anxiety.  It  was  really  all  his  own  life-work,  the  little  people 
which  had  sprung  from  him,  the  little  kingdom  which  he  had 
founded  under  the  benevolent  sun,  that  was  threatened  with 
sudden  ruin.  A  work  such  as  this  can  only  live  by  force  of 
love.  The  love  which  created  it  can  alone  perpetuate  it ;  it 
crumbles  as  soon  as  the  bond  of  fraternal  solidarity  is  broken. 
Thus  it  seemed  to  Mathieu  that  instead  of  leaving  his  work 
behind  him  in  full  florescence  of  kindliness,  joy,  and  vigor, 
he  would  see  it  cast  to  the  ground  in  fragments,  soiled,  and 
dead  even  before  he  were  dead  himself.  Yet  what  a  fruitful 
and  prosperous  work  had  hitherto  been  that  estate  of  Chante- 
bled,  whose  overflowing  fertility  increased  at  each  successive 
harvest ;  and  that  mill  too,  so  enlarged  and  so  flourishing, 
which  was  the  outcome  of  his  own  inspiring  suggestions,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  prodigious  fortunes  which  his  conquering 
sons  had  acquired  in  Paris  !  Yet  it  was  all  this  admirable 
work,  which  faith  in  life  had  created,  that  a  fratricidal 
onslaught  upon  life  was  about  to  destroy  ! 

One  evening,  in  the  mournful  gloaming  of  one  of  the 
last  days  of  September,  the  couch  on  which  Marianne  lay 
dying  of  silent  grief  was,  by  her  desire,  rolled  to  the  window. 
Charlotte  alone  nursed  her,  and  of  all  her  sons  she  had  but 
the  last  one,  Benjamin,  beside  her  in  the  now  over-spacious 
house  which  had  replaced  the  old  shooting-box.  Since  the 
family  had  been  at  war  she  had  kept  the  doors  closed,  intent 
on  opening  them  only  to  her  children  when  they  became 
reconciled,  if  they  should  then  seek  to  make  her  happy  by 
coming  to  embrace  one  another  beneath  her  roof.  But  she 
virtually  despaired  of  that  sole  cure  for  her  grief,  the  only 
joy  that  would  make  her  live  again. 

That  evening,  as  Mathieu  came  to  sit  beside  her,  and 
they  lingered  there  hand  in  hand  according  to  their  wont, 
they  did  not  at  first  speak,  but  gazed  straight  before  them 
at  the  spreading  plain ;  at  the  estate,  whose  interminable 
fields  blended  with  the  mist  far  away ;  at  the  mill  yonder 


FRUITFULNESS  441 

on  the  banks  of  the  Yeuse,  with  its  tall,  smoking  chimney ; 
and  at  Paris  itself  on  the  horizon,  where  a  tawny  cloud  was 
rising  as  from  the  huge  furnace  of  some  forge. 

The  minutes  slowly  passed  away.  During  the  afternoon 
Mathieu  had  taken  a  long  walk  in  the  direction  of  the  farms 
of  Mareuil  and  Lillebonne,  in  the  hope  of  quieting  his 
torment  by  physical  fatigue.  And  in  a  low  voice,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself,  he  at  last  said  : 

"  The  ploughing  could  not  take  place  under  better  con- 
ditions. Yonder  on  the  plateau  the  quality  of  the  soil  has 
been  much  improved  by  the  recent  methods  of  cultivation ; 
and  here,  too,  on  the  slopes,  the  sandy  soil  has  been  greatly 
enriched  by  the  new  distribution  of  the  springs  which  Ger- 
vais  devised.  The  estate  has  almost  doubled  in  value  since 
it  has  been  in  his  hands  and  Claire's.  There  is  no  break 
in  the  prosperity ;  labor  yields  unlimited  victory." 

"  What  is  the  good  of  it  if  there  is  ho  more  love  ?  " 
murmured  Marianne. 

"  Then,  too,"  continued  Mathieu,  after  a  pause,  "  I  went 
down  to  the  Yeuse,  and  from  a  distance  I  saw  that  Gregoire 
had  received  the  new  machine  which  Denis  has  just  built 
for  him.  It  was  being  unloaded  in  the  yard.  It  seems  that  it 
imparts  a  certain  movement  to  the  mill-stones,  which  saves 
a  good  third  of  the  power  needed.  With  such  appliances 
the  earth  may  produce  seas  of  corn  for  innumerable  nations, 
they  will  all  have  bread.  And  that  mill-engine,  with  its 
regular  breath  and  motion,  will  produce  fresh  wealth  also." 

"What  use  is  it  if  people  hate  one  another?"  Marianne 
exclaimed. 

At  this  Mathieu  dropped  the  subject.  But,  in  accord- 
ance with  a  resolution  which  he  had  formed  during  his 
walk,  he  told  his  wife  that  he  meant  to  go  to  Paris  on  the 
morrow.  And  on  noticing  her  surprise,  he  pretended  that 
he  wished  to  see  to  a  certain  business  matter,  the  settle- 
ment of  an  old  account.  But  the  truth  was,  that  he  could 
no  longer  endure  the  spectacle  of  his  wife's  lingering  agony, 
which  brought  him  so  much  suffering.  He  wished  to  act, 
to  make  a  supreme  effort  at  reconciliation. 


442  FRUITFULNESS 

At  ten  o'clock  on  the  following  morning,  when  Mathieu 
alighted  from  the  train  at  the  Paris  terminus,  he  drove 
direct  to  the  factory  at  Crenelle.  Before  everything  else 
he  wished  to  see  Denis,  who  had  hitherto  taken  no  part  in 
the  quarrel.  For  a  long  time  now,  indeed  ever  since  Con- 
stance's death,  Denis  had  been  installed  in  the  house  on 
the  quay  with  his  wife  Marthe  and  their  three  children. 
This  occupation  of  the  luxurious  dwelling  set  apart  for  the 
master  had  been  like  a  final  entry  into  possession,  with 
respect  to  the  whole  works.  True,  Beauchene  had  lived 
several  years  longer,  but  his  name  no  longer  figured  in  that 
of  the  firm.  He  had  surrendered  his  last  shred  of  interest 
in  the  business  for  an  annuity  ;  and  at  last  one  evening  it 
was  learnt  that  he  had  died  that  day,  struck  down  by  an 
attack  of  apoplexy  after  an  over-copious  lunch,  at  the  resi- 
dence of  his  lady-friends,  the  aunt  and  the  niece.  He  had 
previously  been  sinking  into  a  state  of  second  childhood, 
the  outcome  of  his  life  of  fast  and  furious  pleasure.  And 
this,  then,  was  the  end  of  the  egotistical  debauchee,  ever 
going  from  bad  to  worse,  and  finally  swept  into  the  gutter. 

"  Why  !  what  good  wind  has  blown  you  here?"  cried 
Denis  gayly,  when  he  perceived  his  father.  "  Have  you 
come  to  lunch  ?  I'm  still  a  bachelor,  you  know ;  for  it  is 
only  next  Monday  that  I  shall  go  to  fetch  Marthe  and  the 
children  from  Dieppe,  where  they  have  spent  a  delightful 
September." 

Then,  on  hearing  that  his  mother  was  ailing,  even  in 
danger,  he  become  serious  and  anxious. 

"  Mamma  ill,  and  in  danger  !  You  amaze  me.  I  thought 
she  was  simply  troubled  with  some  little  indisposition.  But 
come,  father,  what  is  really  the  matter?  Are  you  hiding 
something  ?  Is  something  worrying  you  ? " 

Thereupon  he  listened  to  the  plain  and  detailed  state- 
ment which  Mathieu  felt  obliged  to  make  to  him.  And 
he  was  deeply  moved  by  it,  as  if  the  dread  of  the  catastrophe 
which  it  foreshadowed  would  henceforth  upset  his  life. 
"What!"  he  angrily  exclaimed,  "  my  brothers  are  up  to 
these  fine  pranks  with  their  idiotic  quarrel !  I  knew  that 


FRUITFULNESS  443 

they  did  not  get  on  well  together.  I  had  heard  of  things 
which  saddened  me,  but  I  never  imagined  that  matters  had 
gone  so  far,  and  that  you  and  mamma  were  so  affected  that 
you  had  shut  yourselves  up  and  were  dying  of  it  all  !  But 
things  must  be  set  to  rights  !  One  must  see  Ambroise  at 
once.  Let  us  go  and  lunch  with  him,  and  finish  the  whole 
business." 

Before  starting  he  had  a  few  orders  to  give,  so  Mathieu 
went  down  to  wait  for  him  in  the  factory  yard.  And  there, 
during  the  ten  minutes  which  he  spent  walking  about 
dreamily,  all  the  distant  past  arose  before  his  eyes.  He 
could  see  himself  a  mere  clerk,  crossing  that  courtyard 
every  morning  on  his  arrival  from  Janville,  with  thirty  sous 
for  his  lunch  in  his  pocket.  The  spot  had  remained  much 
the  same ;  there  was  the  central  building,  with  its  big  clock, 
the  workshops  and  the  sheds,  quite  a  little  town  of  gray 
structures,  surmounted  by  two  lofty  chimneys,  which  were 
ever  smoking.  True,  his  son  had  enlarged  this  city  of  toil; 
the  stretch  of  ground  bordered  by  the  Rue  de  la  Federation 
and  the  Boulevard  de  Crenelle  had  been  utilized  for  the 
erection  of  other  buildings.  And  facing  the  quay  there 
still  stood  the  large  brick  house  with  dressings  of  white 
stone,  of  which  Constance  had  been  so  proud,  and  where, 
with  the  mien  of  some  queen  of  industry,  she  had  received 
her  friends  in  her  little  salon  hung  with  yellow  silk.  Eight 
hundred  men  now  worked  in  the  place ;  the  ground  quiv- 
ered with  the  ceaseless  trepidation  of  machinery  ;  the  estab- 
lishment had  grown  to  be  the  most  important  of  its  kind 
in  Paris,  the  one  whence  came  the  finest  agricultural  appli- 
ances, the  most  powerful  mechanical  workers  of  the  soil. 
And  it  was  his,  Mathieu's,  son  whom  fortune  had  made 
prince  of  that  branch  of  industry,  and  it  was  his  daughter- 
in-law  who,  with  her  three  strong,  healthy  children  near 
her,  received  her  friends  in  the  little  salon  hung  with  yellow 
silk. 

As  Mathieu,  moved  by  his  recollections,  glanced  towards 
the  right,  towards  the  pavilion  where  he  had  dwelt  with 
Marianne,  and  where  Gervais  had  been  born,  an  old  work- 


444  FRUITFULNESS 

man  who  passed,  lifted  his  cap  to  him,  saying,  "  Good  day, 
Monsieur  Froment." 

Mathieu  thereupon  recognized  Victor  Moineaud,  now 
five-and-fifty  years  old,  and  aged,  and  wrecked  by  labor  to 
even  a  greater  degree  than  his  father  had  been  at  the  time 
when  mother  Moineaud  had  come  to  offer  the  Monster 
her  children's  immature  flesh.  Entering  the  works  at  six- 
teen years  of  age,  Victor,  like  his  father,  had  spent  forty 
years  between  the  forge  and  the  anvil.  It  was  iniquitous 
destiny  beginning  afresh :  the  most  crushing  toil  falling 
upon  a  beast  of  burden,  the  son  hebetated  after  the  father, 
ground  to  death  under  the  millstones  of  wretchedness  and 
injustice. 

"  Good  day,  Victor,"  said  Mathieu,  "  are  you  well  ? " 

"  Oh,  I'm  no  longer  young,  Monsieur  Froment,"  the 
other  replied.  "  I  shall  soon  have  to  look  somewhere  for 
a  hole  to  lie  in.  Still,  I  hope  it  won't  be  under  an  omni- 
bus." 

He  alluded  to  the  death  of  his  father,  who  had  finally 
been  picked  up  under  an  omnibus  in  the  Rue  de  Crenelle, 
with  his  skull  split  and  both  legs  broken. 

"  But  after  all,"  resumed  Victor,  "  one  may  as  well  die 
that  way  as  any  other  !  It's  even  quicker.  The  old  man 
was  lucky  in  having  Norine  and  Cecile  to  look  after  him. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  them,  it's  starvation  that  would  have 
killed  him,  not  an  omnibus." 

Mathieu  interrupted.  "  Are  Norine  and  Cecile  well  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Froment.  Leastways,  as  far  as  I 
know,  for,  as  you  can  understand,  we  don't  often  see  one 
another.  Them  and  me,  that's  about  all  that's  left  out  of 
our  lot ;  for  Irma  won't  have  anything  more  to  do  with  us 
since  she's  become  one  of  the  toffs.  Euphrasie  was  lucky 
enough  to  die,  and  that  brigand  Alfred  disappeared,  which 
was  real  relief,  I  assure  you ;  for  I  feared  that  I  should  be 
seeing  him  at  the  galleys.  And  I  was  really  pleased  when 
I  had  some  news  of  Norine  and  Cecile  lately.  Norine  is 
older  than  I  am,  you  know ;  she  will  soon  be  sixty.  But 


FRUITFULNESS  445 

she  was  always  strong,  and  her  boy,  it  seems,  looks  after 
her.  Both  she  and  Cecile  still  work ;  yes,  Cecile  still 
lives  on,  though  one  used  to  think  that  a  fillip  would  have 
killed  her.  It's  a  pretty  home,  that  one  of  theirs ;  two 
mothers  for  a  big  lad  of  whom  they've  made  a  decent 
fellow." 

Mathieu  nodded  approvingly,  and  then  remarked  :  "  But 
you  yourself,  Victor,  had  boys  and  girls  who  must  now  in 
their  turn  be  fathers  and  mothers." 

The  old  workman  waved  his  hand  vaguely. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  had  eight,  one  more  than  my  father. 
They've  all  gone  off,  and  they  are  fathers  and  mothers  in 
their  turn,  as  you  say,  Monsieur  Froment.  It's  all  chance, 
you  know ;  one  has  to  live.  There  are  some  of  them  who 
certainly  don't  eat  white  bread,  ah  !  that  they  don't.  And 
the  question  is  whether,  when  my  arms  fail  me,  I  shall 
find  one  to  take  me  in,  as  Norine  and  Cecile  took  my 
father.  But  when  everything's  said,  what  can  you  expect  ? 
It's  all  seed  of  poverty,  it  can't  grow  well,  or  yield  any- 
thing good." 

For  a  moment  he  remained  silent ;  then  resuming  his 
walk  towards  the  works,  with  bent,  weary  back  and  hang- 
ing hands,  dented  by  toil,  he  said  :  "  Au  revoir^  Monsieur 
Froment." 

11  Au  revoir,  Victor,"  Mathieu  answered  in  a  kindly 
tone. 

Having  given  his  orders,  Denis  now  came  to  join  his 
father,  and  proposed  to  him  that  they  should  go  on  foot 
to  the  Avenue  d'Antin.  On  the  way  he  warned  him  that 
they  would  certainly  find  Ambroise  alone,  for  his  wife  and 
four  children  were  still  at  Dieppe,  where,  indeed,  the  two 
sisters-in-law,  Andree  and  Marthe,  had  spent  the  season 
together. 

In  a  period  of  ten  years,  Ambroise's  fortune  had  in- 
creased tenfold.  Though  he  was  barely  five-and-forty,  he 
reigned  over  the  Paris  market.  With  his  spirit  of  enter- 
prise, he  had  greatly  enlarged  the  business  left  him  by  old 
Du  Hordel,  transforming  it  into  a  really  universal  comptoir, 


446  FRUITFULNESS 

through  which  passed  merchandise  from  all  parts  of  the 
world.  Frontiers  did  not  exist  for  Ambroise,  he  enriched 
himself  with  the  spoils  of  the  earth,  particularly  striving  to 
extract  from  the  colonies  all  the  wealth  they  were  able  to 
yield,  and  carrying  on  his  operations  with  such  triumphant 
audacity,  such  keen  perception,  that  the  most  hazardous  of 
his  campaigns  ended  victoriously. 

A  man  of  this  stamp,  whose  fruitful  activity  was  ever 
winning  battles,  was  certain  to  devour  the  idle,  impotent 
Seguins.  In  the  downfall  of  their  fortune,  the  dispersal  of 
the  home  and  family,  he  had  carved  a  share  for  himself  by 
securing  possession  of  the  house  in  the  Avenue  d'Antin. 
Seguin  himself  had  not  resided  there  for  years,  he  had 
thought  it  original  to  live  at  his  club,  where  he  secured 
accommodation  after  he  and  his  wife  had  separated  by 
consent.  Two  of  the  children  had  also  gone  off;  Gaston, 
now  a  major  in  the  army,  was  on  duty  in  a  distant  garrison 
town,  and  Lucie  was  cloistered  in  an  Ursuline  convent. 
Thus,  Valentine,  left  to  herself  and  feeling  very  dreary,  no 
longer  able,  moreover,  to  keep  up  the  establishment  on  a 
proper  footing,  in  her  turn  quitted  the  mansion  for  a  cheer- 
ful and  elegant  little  flat  on  the  Boulevard  Malesherbes, 
where  she  finished  her  life  as  a  very  devout  old  lady,  pre- 
siding over  a  society  for  providing  poor  mothers  with  baby- 
linen,  and  thus  devoting  herself  to  the  children  of  others 
—  she  who  had  not  known  how  to  bring  up  her  own. 
And,  in  this  wise,  Ambroise  had  simply  had  to  take  posses- 
sion of  the  empty  mansion,  which  was  heavily  mortgaged, 
to  such  an  extent,  indeed,  that  when  the  Seguins  died  their 
heirs  would  certainly  be  owing  him  money. 

Many  were  the  recollections  which  awoke  when  Mathieu, 
accompanied  by  Denis,  entered  that  princely  mansion  of 
the  Avenue  d'Antin  !  There,  as  at  the  factory,  he  could 
see  himself  arriving  in  poverty,  as  a  needy  tenant  begging 
his  landlord  to  repair  a  roof,  in  order  that  the  rain  might 
no  longer  pour  down  on  the  four  children,  whom,  with 
culpable  improvidence,  he  already  had  to  provide  for.  There, 
facing  the  avenue,  was  the  sumptuous  Renaissance  facade 


FRUITFULNESS  447 

with  eight  lofty  windows  on  each  of  its  upper  floors  ;  there, 
inside,  was  the  hall,  all  bronze  and  marble,  conducting  to 
the  spacious  ground-floor  reception-rooms  which  a  winter 
garden  prolonged  ;  and  there,  up  above,  occupying  all  the 
central  part  of  the  first  floor,  was  Seguin's  former  "  cabinet," 
the  vast  apartment  with  lofty  windows  of  old  stained  glass. 
Mathieu  could  well  remember  that  room  with  its  profuse 
and  amusing  display  of  "  antiquities,"  old  brocades,  old 
goldsmith's  ware  and  old  pottery,  and  its  richly  bound  books, 
and  its  famous  modern  pewters.  And  he  remembered  it 
also  at  a  later  date,  in  the  abandonment  to  which  it  had 
fallen,  the  aspect  of  ruin  which  it  had  assumed,  covered,  as 
it  was,  with  gray  dust  which  bespoke  the  slow  crumbling 
of  the  home.  And  now  he  found  it  once  more  superb  and 
cheerful,  renovated  with  healthier  and  more  substantial 
luxury  by  Ambroise,  who  had  put  masons  and  joiners  and 
upholsterers  into  it  for  a  period  of  three  months.  The 
whole  mansion  now  lived  afresh,  more  luxurious  than  ever, 
filled  at  winter-time  with  sounds  of  festivity,  enlivened  by 
the  laughter  of  four  happy  children,  and  the  blaze  of  a 
living  fortune  which  effort  and  conquest  ever  renewed. 
And  it  was  no  longer  Seguin,  the  idler,  the  artisan  of  noth- 
ingness, whom  Mathieu  came  to  see  there,  it  was  his  own 
son  Ambroise,  a  man  of  creative  energy,  whose  victory  had 
been  sought  by  the  very  forces  of  life,  which  had  made  him 
triumph  there,  installed  him  as  the  master  in  the  home  of 
the  vanquished. 

When  Mathieu  and  Denis  arrived  Ambroise  was  absent, 
but  was  expected  home  for  lunch.  They  waited  for  him, 
and  as  the  former  again  crossed  the  ante-room  the  better  to 
judge  of  some  new  arrangements  that  had  been  made,  he 
was  surprised  at  being  stopped  by  a  lady  who  was  sitting 
there  patiently,  and  whom  he  had  not  previously  noticed. 

"  I  see  that  Monsieur  Froment  does  not  recognize  me," 
she  said. 

Mathieu  made  a  vague  gesture.  The  woman  had  a  tall, 
plump  figure,  and  was  certainly  more  than  sixty  years  of 
age ;  but  she  evidently  took  care  of  her  person,  and  had  a 


448  FRUITFULNESS 

smiling  mien,  with  a  long,  full  face  and  almost  venerable 
white  hair.  One  might  have  taken  her  for  some  worthy, 
well-to-do  provincial  bourgeoise  in  full  dress. 

"  Celeste,"  said  she.  "  Celeste,  Madame  Seguin's  former 
maid." 

Thereupon  he  fully  recognized  her,  but  hid  his  stupefac- 
tion at  finding  her  so  fortunately  circumstanced  at  the  close 
of  her  career.  He  had  imagined  that  she  was  buried  in 
some  sewer. 

In  a  gay,  placid  way  she  proceeded  to  recount  her  happi- 
ness :  "  Oh !  I  am  very  pleased,"  she  said  ;  "  I  had  retired 
to  Rougemont,  my  birth-place,  and  I  ended  by  there  marry- 
ing a  retired  naval  officer,  who  has  a  very  comfortable 
pension,  not  to  speak  of  a  little  fortune  which  his  first  wife 
left  him.  As  he  has  two  big  sons,  I  ventured  to  recom- 
mend the  younger  one  to  Monsieur  Ambroise,  who  was 
kind  enough  to  take  him  into  his  counting-house.  And  so 
I  have  profited  by  my  first  journey  to  Paris  since  then,  to 
come  and  give  Monsieur  Ambroise  my  best  thanks." 

She  did  not  say  how  she  had  managed  to  marry  the  re- 
tired naval  officer;  how  she  had  originally  been  a  servant 
in  his  household,  and  how  she  had  hastened  his  first  wife's 
death  in  order  to  marry  him.  All  things  considered,  how- 
ever, she  rendered  him  very  happy,  and  even  rid  him  of  his 
sons,  who  were  in  his  way,  thanks  to  the  relations  she  had 
kept  up  in  Paris. 

She  continued  smiling  like  a  worthy  woman,  whose 
feelings  softened  at  the  recollection  of  the  past.  "  You  can 
have  no  idea  how  pleased  I  felt  when  I  saw  you  pass  just 
now,  Monsieur  Froment,"  she  resumed.  "  Ah  !  it  was  a 
long  time  ago  that  I  first  had  the  honor  of  seeing  you  here  ! 
You  remember  La  Couteau,  don't  you  ?  She  was  always 
complaining,  was  she  not  ?  But  she  is  very  well  pleased 
now ;  she  and  her  husband  have  retired  to  a  pretty  little 
house  of  their  own,  with  some  little  savings  which  they  live 
on  very  quietly.  She  is  no  longer  young,  but  she  has  buried 
a  good  many  in  her  time,  and  she'll  bury  more  before  she 
has  finished!  For  instance,  Madame Menoux  —  you  must 


FRUITFULNESS  449 

surely  remember  Madame  Menoux,  the  little  haberdasher 
close  by  —  well,  there  was  a  woman  now  who  never  had 
any  luck !  She  lost  her  second  child,  and  she  lost  that  big 
fellow,  her  husband,  whom  she  was  so  fond  of,  and  she 
herself  died  of  grief  six  months  afterwards.  I  did  at  one 
time  think  of  taking  her  to  Rougemont,  where  the  air  is  so 
good  for  one's  health.  There  are  old  folks  of  ninety  living 
there.  Take  La  Couteau,  for  instance,  she  will  live  as 
long  as  she  likes  !  Oh  !  yes,  it  is  a  very  pleasant  part 
indeed,  a  perfect  paradise." 

At  these  words  the  abominable  Rougemont,  the  bloody 
Rougemont,  arose  before  Mathieu's  eyes,  rearing  its  peace- 
ful steeple  above  the  low  plain,  with  its  cemetery  paved 
with  little  Parisians,  where  wild  flowers  bloomed  and  hid 
the  victims  of  so  many  murders. 

But  Celeste  was  rattling  on  again,  saying  :  "  You  remem- 
ber Madame  Bourdieu  whom  you  used  to  know  in  the  Rue 
de  Miromesnil ;  she  died  very  near  our  village  on  some 
property  where  she  went  to  live  when  she  gave  up  business, 
a  good  many  years  ago.  She  was  luckier  than  her  colleague 
La  Rouche,  who  was  far  too  good-natured  with  people. 
You  must  have  read  about  her  case  in  the  newspapers,  she 
was  sent  to  prison  with  a  medical  man  named  Sarraille." 

"  La  Rouche  !  Sarraille  !  "  Yes,  Mathieu  had  certainly 
read  the  trial  of  those  two  social  pests,  who  were  fated  to 
meet  at  last  in  their  work  of  iniquity.  And  what  an  echo 
did  those  names  awaken  in  the  past :  Valerie  Morange  ! 
Reine  Morange  !  Already  in  the  factory  yard  Mathieu  had 
fancied  that  he  could  see  the  shadow  of  Morange  gliding 
past  him  —  the  punctual,  timid,  soft-hearted  accountant, 
whom  misfortune  and  insanity  had  carried  off  into  the  dark- 
ness. And  suddenly  the  unhappy  man  here  again  appeared 
to  Mathieu,  like  a  wandering  phantom,  the  restless  victim 
of  all  the  imbecile  ambition,  all  the  desperate  craving  for 
pleasure  which  animated  the  period  ;  a  poor,  weak,  mediocre 
being,  so  cruelly  punished  for  the  crimes  of  others,  that  he 
was  doubtless  unable  to  sleep  in  the  tomb  into  which  he 
had  flung  himself,  bleeding,  with  broken  limbs.  And  before 


450  FRUITFULNESS 

Mathieu's  eyes  there  likewise  passed  the  spectre  of  Seraphine, 
with  the  fierce  and  pain-fraught  face  of  one  who  is  racked 
and  killed  by  insatiate  desire. 

"  Well,  excuse  me  for  having  ventured  to  stop  you, 
Monsieur  Froment,"  Celeste  concluded  j  "  but  I  am  very, 
very  pleased  at  having  met  you  again." 

He  was  still  looking  at  her ;  and  as  he  quitted  her  he 
said,  with  the  indulgence  born  of  his  optimism  :  "  May  you 
keep  happy  since  you  are  happy.  Happiness  must  know 
what  it  does." 

Nevertheless,  Mathieu  remained  disturbed,  as  he  thought 
of  the  apparent  injustice  of  impassive  nature.  The  mem- 
ory of  his  Marianne,  struck  down  by  such  deep  grief, 
pining  away  through  the  impious  quarrels  of  her  sons, 
returned  to  him.  And  as  Ambroise  at  last  came  in  and 
gayly  embraced  him,  after  receiving  Celeste's  thanks,  he  felt 
a  thrill  of  anguish,  for  the  decisive  moment  which  would 
save  or  wreck  the  family  was  now  at  hand. 

Indeed,  Denis,  after  inviting  himself  and  Mathieu  to 
lunch,  promptly  plunged  into  the  subject. 

"We  are  not  here  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  lunching 
with  you,"  said  he ;  "  mamma  is  ill,  did  you  know  it  ? " 

"  111  ?  "  said  Ambroise.     "  Not  seriously  ill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  ill,  in  danger.  And  are  you  aware  that  she 
has  been  ill  like  this  ever  since  she  came  to  speak  to  you 
about  the  quarrel  between  Gregoire  and  Gervais,  when  it 
seems  that  you  treated  her  very  roughly." 

"  I  treated  her  roughly  ?  We  simply  talked  business, 
and  perhaps  I  spoke  to  her  like  a  business  man,  a  little 
bluntly." 

Then  Ambroise  turned  towards  Mathieu,  who  was 
waiting,  pale  and  silent :  "  Is  it  true,  father,  that  mamma 
is  ill  and  causes  you  anxiety  ?  " 

And  as  his  father  replied  with  a  long  affirmative  nod,  he 
gave  vent  to  his  emotion,  even  as  Denis  had  done  at  the 
works  immediately  on  learning  the  truth. 

"  But  dash  it  all,"  he  said  ;  "  this  affair  is  becoming  quite 
idiotic  !  In  my  opinion  Gregoire  is  right  and  Gervais  wrong. 


FRUITFULNESS  451 

Only  I  don't  care  a  fig  about  that ;  they  must  make  it  up 
at  once,  so  that  poor  mamma  may  not  have  another 
moment's  suffering.  But  then,  why  did  you  shut  your- 
selves up  ?  Why  did  you  not  let  us  know  how  grieved 
you  were  ?  Every  one  would  have  reflected  and  understood 
things." 

Then,  all  at  once,  Ambroise  embraced  his  father  with 
that  promptness  of  decision  which  he  displayed  to  such 
happy  effect  in  business  as  soon  as  ever  a  ray  of  light 
illumined  his  mind. 

"  After  all,  father,"  said  he ;  "  you  are  the  cleverest ; 
you  understand  things  and  foresee  them.  Even  if  Gregoire 
were  within  his  rights  in  bringing  an  action  against  Gervais, 
it  would  be  idiotic  for  him  to  do  so,  because  far  above  any 
petty  private  interest,  there  is  the  interest  of  all  of  us,  the 
interest  of  the  family,  which  is  to  remain  united,  compact, 
and  unattackable,  if  it  desires  to  continue  invincible.  Our 

sovereign  strength  lies  in  our  union And  so  it's  simple 

enough.  We  will  lunch  as  quickly  as  possible  and  take 
the  first  train.  We  shall  go,  Denis  and  I,  to  Chantebled 
with  you.  Peace  must  be  concluded  this  evening.  I  will 
see  to  it." 

Laughing,  and  well  pleased  to  find  his  own  feelings 
shared  by  his  two  sons,  Mathieu  returned  Ambroise's 
embrace.  And  while  waiting  for  lunch  to  be  served,  they 
went  down  to  see  the  winter  garden,  which  was  being 
enlarged  for  some  fetes  which  Ambroise  wished  to  give. 
He  took  pleasure  in  adding  to  the  magnificence  of  the 
mansion,  and  in  reigning  there  with  princely  pomp.  At 
lunch  he  apologized  for  only  offering  his  father  and  brother 
a  bachelor's  pot-luck,  though,  truth  to  tell,  the  fare  was 
excellent.  Indeed,  whenever  Andree  and  the  children 
absented  themselves,  Ambroise  still  kept  a  good  cook  to 
minister  to  his  needs,  for  he  held  the  cuisine  of  restaurants 
in  horror. 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Denis,  u  I  go  to  a  restaurant 
for  my  meals ;  for  since  Marthe  and  all  the  others  have 
been  at  Dieppe,  I  have  virtually  shut  up  the  house." 


452  FRUITFULNESS 

"  You  are  a  wise  man,  you  see,"  Ambroise  answered, 
with  quiet  frankness.  "  For  my  part,  as  you  are  aware,  I 
am  an  enjoyer.  Now,  make  haste  and  drink  your  coffee, 
and  we  will  start." 

They  reached  Janville  by  the  two  o'clock  train.  Their 
plan  was  to  repair  to  Chantebled  in  the  first  instance,  in 
order  that  Ambroise  and  Denis  might  begin  by  talking  to 
Gervais,  who  was  of  a  gentler  nature  than  Gregoire,  and 
with  whom  they  thought  they  might  devise  some  means  of 
conciliation.  Then  they  intended  to  betake  themselves  to 
the  mill,  lecture  Gregoire,  and  impose  on  him  such  peace 
conditions  as  they  might  have  agreed  upon.  As  they  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  farm,  however,  the  difficulties  of 
their  undertaking  appeared  to  them,  and  seemed  to  increase 
in  magnitude.  An  arrangement  would  not  be  arrived  at  so 
easily  as  they  had  at  first  imagined.  So  they  girded  their 
loins  in  readiness  for  a  hard  battle. 

"  Suppose  we  begin  by  going  to  see  mamma,"  Denis 
suggested.  "  We  should  see  and  embrace  her,  and  that 
would  give  us  some  courage." 

Ambroise  deemed  the  idea  an  excellent  one.  "  Yes,  let 
us  go  by  all  means,  particularly  as  mamma  has  always  been 
a  good  counsellor.  She  must  have  some  idea." 

They  climbed  to  the  first  floor  of  the  house,  to  the 
spacious  room  where  Marianne  spent  her  days  on  a  couch 
beside  the  window.  And  to  their  stupefaction  they  found 
her  seated  on  that  couch  with  Gregoire  standing  by  her 
and  holding  both  her  hands,  while  on  the  other  side  were 
Gervais  and  Claire,  laughing  softly. 

"  Why  !  what  is  this  ?  "  exclaimed  Ambroise  in  amaze- 
ment. "  The  work  is  done  !  " 

"  And  we  who  despaired  of  being  able  to  accomplish  it !  " 
declared  Denis,  with  a  gesture  of  bewilderment. 

Mathieu  was  equally  stupefied  and  delighted,  and  on 
noticing  the  surprise  occasioned  by  the  arrival  of  the  two 
big  brothers  from  Paris,  he  proceeded  to  explain  the  position. 

"  I  went  to  Paris  this  morning  to  fetch  them,"  he  said, 
"  and  I've  brought  them  here  to  reconcile  us  all !  " 


FRUITFULNESS  453 

A  joyous  peal  of  laughter  resounded.  The  big  brothers 
were  too  late  !  Neither  their  wisdom  nor  their  diplomacy 
had  been  needed.  They  themselves  made  merry  over  it, 
feeling  the  while  greatly  relieved  that  the  victory  should 
have  been  won  without  any  battle. 

Marianne,  whose  eyes  were  moist,  and  who  felt  divinely 
happy,  so  happy  that  she  seemed  already  well  again,  simply 
replied  to  Mathieu  :  "  You  see,  my  friend,  it's  done.  But 
as  yet  I  know  nothing  further.  Gregoire  came  here  and 
kissed  me,  and  wished  me  to  send  for  Gervais  and  Claire 
at  once.  Then,  of  his  own  accord,  he  told  them  that  they 
were  all  three  mad  in  causing  me  such  grief,  and  that  they 
ought  to  come  to  an  understanding  together.  Thereupon 
they  kissed  one  another.  And  now  it's  done;  it's  all 
over." 

But  Gregoire  gayly  intervened.  "  Wait  a  moment ;  just 
listen ;  I  cut  too  fine  a  figure  in  the  story  as  mamma  relates 
it,  and  I  must  tell  you  the  truth.  I  wasn't  the  first  to  desire 
the  reconciliation ;  the  first  was  my  wife,  Therese.  She 
has  a  good  sterling  heart  and  the  very  brains  of  a  mule,  in 
such  wise  that  whenever  she  is  determined  on  anything  I 
always  have  to  do  it  in  the  end.  Well,  yesterday  evening 
we  had  a  bit  of  a  quarrel,  for  she  had  heard,  I  don't  know 
how,  that  mamma  was  ill  with  grief.  And  this  pained  her, 
and  she  tried  to  prove  to  me  how  stupid  the  quarrel  was, 
for  we  should  all  of  us  lose  by  it.  This  morning  she  began 
again,  and  of  course  she  convinced  me,  more  particularly 
as,  with  the  thought  of  poor  mamma  lying  ill  through  our 
fault,  I  had  hardly  slept  all  night.  But  father  Lepailleur 
still  had  to  be  convinced,  and  Therese  undertook  to  do  that 
also.  She  even  hit  upon  something  extraordinary,  so  that 
the  old  man  might  imagine  that  he  was  the  conqueror  of 
conquerors.  She  persuaded  him  at  last  to  sell  you  that 
terrible  enclosure  at  such  an  insane  price  that  he  will  be 
able  to  shout  'victory!'  over  all  the  house-tops." 

Then  turning  to  his  brother  and  sister,  Gregoire  added, 
in  a  jocular  tone  ;  "  My  dear  Gervais,  my  dear  Claire,  let 
yourselves  be  robbed,  I  beg  of  you.  The  peace  of  my 


454  FRUITFUL-NESS 

home  is  at  stake.  Give  my  father-in-law  the  last  joy  of 
believing  that  he  alone  has  always  been  in  the  right,  and 
that  we  have  never  been  anything  but  fools." 

"  Oh  !  as  much  money  as  he  likes,"  replied  Gervais, 
laughing.  "  Besides,  that  enclosure  has  always  been  a  dis- 
honor for  the  estate,  streaking  it  with  stones  and  brambles, 
like  a  nasty  sore.  We  have  long  dreamt  of  seeing  the 
property  spotless,  with  its  crops  waving  without  a  break 
under  the  sun.  And  Chantebled  is  rich  enough  to  pay  for 
its  glory." 

Thus  the  affair  was  settled.  The  wheat  of  the  farm 
would  return  to  the  mill  to  be  ground,  and  the  mother 
would  get  well  again.  It  was  the  force  of  life,  the  need 
of  love,  the  union  necessary  for  the  whole  family  if  it  were 
to  continue  victorious,  that  had  imposed  true  brotherliness 
on  the  sons,  who  for  a  moment  had  been  foolish  enough  to 
destroy  their  power  by  assailing  one  another. 

The  delight  of  finding  themselves  once  more  together 
there,  Denis,  Ambroise,  Gervais,  Gregoire,  the  four  big 
brothers,  and  Claire,  the  big  sister,  all  reconciled  and  again 
invincible,  increased  when  Charlotte  arrived,  bringing  with 
her  the  other  three  daughters,  Louise,  Madeleine,  and  Marthe, 
who  had  married  and  settled  in  the  district.  Louise,  having 
heard  that  her  mother  was  ill,  had  gone  to  fetch  her  sisters, 
in  order  that  they  might  repair  to  Chantebled  together.  And 
what  a  hearty  laugh  there  was  when  the  procession  entered  ! 

"  Let  them  all  come !  "  cried  Ambroise,  in  a  jocular 
way.  "  Let's  have  the  family  complete,  a  real  meeting  of 
the  great  privy  council.  You  see,  mamma,  you  must  get 
well  at  once  ;  the  whole  of  your  court  is  at  your  knees, 
and  unanimously  decides  that  it  can  no  longer  allow  you  to 
have  even  a  headache." 

Then,  as  Benjamin  put  in  an  appearance  the  very  last, 
behind  the  three  sisters,  the  laughter  broke  out  afresh. 

"  And  to  think  that  we  were  forgetting  Benjamin ! " 
Mathieu  exclaimed. 

"  Come,  little  one,  come  and  kiss  me  in  your  turn,"  said 
Marianne  affectionately,  in  a  low  voice.  "  The  others  jest 


FRUITFULNESS  455 

because  you  are  the  last  of  the  brood.  But  if  I  spoil  you 
that  only  concerns  ourselves,  does  it  not  ?  Tell  them  that 
you  spent  the  morning  with  me,  and  that  if  you  went  out 
for  a  walk  it  was  because  I  wished  you  to  do  so." 

Benjamin  smiled  with  a  gentle  and  rather  sad  expression. 
"  But  I  was  downstairs,  mamma ;  I  saw  them  go  up  one 
after  the  other.  I  waited  for  them  all  to  kiss,  before  com- 
ing up  in  my  turn." 

He  was  already  one-and-twenty  and  extremely  handsome, 
with  a  bright  face,  large  brown  eyes,  long  curly  hair,  and  a 
frizzy,  downy  beard.  Though  he  had  never  been  ill,  his 
mother  would  have  it  that  he  was  weak,  and  insisted  on 
coddling  him.  All  of  them,  moreover,  were  very  fond  of 
him,  both  for  his  grace  of  person  and  the  gentle  charm  of 
his  disposition.  He  had  grown  up  in  a  kind  of  dream,  full 
of  a  desire  which  he  could  not  put  into  words,  ever  seeking 
the  unknown,  something  which  he  knew  not,  did  not  pos- 
sess. And  when  his  parents  saw  that  he  had  no  taste  for 
any  profession,  and  that  even  the  idea  of  marrying  did  not 
appeal  to  him,  they  evinced  no  anger,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
they  secretly  plotted  to  keep  this  son,  their  last-born,  life's 
final  gift,  to  themselves.  Had  they  not  surrendered  all  the 
others  ?  Would  they  not  be  forgiven  for  yielding  to  the 
egotism  of  love  by  reserving  one  for  themselves,  one  who 
would  be  theirs  entirely,  who  would  never  marry,  or  toil 
and  moil,  but  would  merely  live  beside  them  and  love 
them,  and  be  loved  in  return  ?  This  was  the  dream  of 
their  old  age,  the  share  which,  in  return  for  long  fruitful- 
ness,  they  would  have  liked  to  snatch  from  devouring  life, 
which,  though  it  gives  one  everything,  yet  takes  everything 
away. 

"  Oh  !  just  listen,  Benjamin,"  Ambroise  suddenly 
resumed,  "you  are  interested  in  our  brave  Nicolas,  I 
know.  Would  you  like  to  have  some  news  of  him  ?  I 
heard  from  him  only  the  day  before  yesterday.  And  it's 
right  that  I  should  speak  of  him,  since  he's  the  only  one 
of  the  brood,  as  mamma  puts  it,  who  cannot  be  here." 

Benjamin  at  once  became  quite  excited,  asking,  "  Is  it 


456  FRUITFULNESS 

true  ?  Has  he  written  to  you  ?  What  does  he  say  ?  What 
is  he  doing  ?  " 

He  could  never  think  without  emotion  of  Nicolas's 
departure  for  Senegal.  He  was  twelve  years  old  at  that 
time,  and  nearly  nine  years  had  gone  by  since  then,  yet 
the  scene,  with  that  eternal  farewell,  that  flight,  as  it  were, 
into  the  infinite  of  time  and  hope,  was  ever  present  in  his 
mind. 

"  You  know  that  I  have  business  relations  with  Nicolas," 
resumed  Ambroise.  "  Oh  !  if  we  had  but  a  few  fellows 
as  intelligent  and  courageous  as  he  is  in  our  colonies,  we 
should  soon  rake  in  all  the  scattered  wealth  of  those  virgin 
lands.  Well,  Nicolas,  as  you  are  aware,  went  to  Senegal 
with  Lisbeth,  who  was  the  very  companion  and  helpmate 
he  needed.  Thanks  to  the  few  thousand  francs  which  they 
possessed  between  them,  they  soon  established  a  prosperous 
business ;  but  I  divined  that  the  field  was  still  too  small  for 
them,  and  that  they  dreamt  of  clearing  and  conquering  a 
larger  expanse.  And  now,  all  at  once,  Nicolas  writes  to 
me  that  he  is  starting  for  the  Soudan,  the  valley  of  the 
Niger,  which  has  only  lately  been  opened.  He  is  taking 
his  wife  and  his  four  children  with  him,  and  they  are  all 
going  off  to  conquer  as  fortune  may  will  it,  like  valiant 
pioneers  beset  by  the  idea  of  founding  a  new  world.  I 
confess  that  it  amazes  me,  for  it  is  a  very  hazardous  enter- 
prise. But  all  the  same  one  must  admit  that  our  Nicolas 
is  a  very  plucky  fellow,  and  one  can't  help  admiring  his 
great  energy  and  faith  in  thus  setting  out  for  an  almost 
unknown  region,  fully  convinced  that  he  will  subject  and 
populate  it." 

Silence  fell.  A  great  gust  seemed  to  have  swept  by,  the 
gust  of  the  infinite  coming  from  the  far  away  mysterious 
virgin  plains.  And  the  family  could  picture  that  young 
fellow,  one  of  themselves,  going  off  through  the  deserts, 
carrying  the  good  seed  of  humanity  under  the  spreading 
sky  into  unknown  climes. 

"Ah!"  said  Benjamin  softly,  his  eyes  dilating  and  gazing 
far,  far  away  as  if  to  the  world's  end ;  "  ah  !  he's  happy, 


FRUITFULNESS  457 

for  he  sees  other  rivers,  and  other  forests,  and  other  suns 
than  ours  !  " 

But  Marianne  shuddered.  "  No,  no,  my  boy,"  said  she ; 
"  there  are  no  other  rivers  than  the  Yeuse,  no  other  forests 
but  our  woods  of  Lillebonne,  no  other  sun  but  that  of 
Chantebled.  Come  and  kiss  me  again  —  let  us  all  kiss 
once  more,  and  I  shall  get  well,  and  we  shall  never  be 
parted  again." 

The  laughter  began  afresh  with  the  embraces.  It  was  a 
great  day,  a  day  of  victory,  the  most  decisive  victory  which 
the  family  had  ever  won  by  refusing  to  let  discord  destroy 
it.  Henceforth  it  would  be  invincible. 

At  twilight,  on  the  evening  of  that  day,  Mathieu  and 
Marianne  again  found  themselves,  as  on  the  previous  even- 
ing, hand  in  hand  near  the  window  whence  they  could  see 
the  estate  stretching  to  the  horizon ;  that  horizon  behind 
which  arose  the  breath  of  Paris,  the  tawny  cloud  of  its 
gigantic  forge.  But  how  little  did  that  serene  evening 
resemble  the  other,  and  how  great  was  their  present  felicity, 
their  trust  in  the  goodness  of  their  work. 

"  Do  you  feel  better  ?  "  Mathieu  asked  his  wife ;  "  do 
you  feel  your  strength  returning;  does  your  heart  beat 
more  freely  ? " 

"  Oh  !  my  friend,  I  feel  cured ;  I  was  only  pining  with 
grief.  To-morrow  I  shall  be  strong." 

Then  Mathieu  sank  into  a  deep  reverie,  as  he  sat  there 
face  to  face  with  his  conquest  —  that  estate  which  spread 
out  under  the  setting  sun.  And  again,  as  in  the  morning, 
did  recollections  crowd  upon  him ;  he  remembered  a  morn- 
ing more  than  forty  years  previously  when  he  had  left 
Marianne,  with  thirty  sous  in  her  purse,  in  the  little  tumble- 
down shooting-box  on  the  verge  of  the  woods.  They  lived 
there  on  next  to  nothing ;  they  owed  money,  they  typified 
gay  improvidence  with  the  four  little  mouths  which  they 
already  had  to  feed,  those  children  who  had  sprung  from 
their  love,  their  faith  in  life. 

Then  he  recalled  his  return  home  at  night  time,  the 
three  hundred  francs,  a  month's  salary,  which  he  had 


458  FRUITFULNESS 

carried  in  his  pocket,  the  calculations  which  he  had  made, 
the  cowardly  anxiety  which  he  had  felt,  disturbed  as  he 
was  by  the  poisonous  egotism  which  he  had  encountered 
in  Paris.  There  were  the  Beauchenes,  with  their  factory, 
and  their  only  son,  Maurice,  whom  they  were  bringing  up 
to  be  a  future  prince,  the  Beauchenes,  who  had  prophesied 
to  him  that  he  and  his  wife  and  their  troop  of  children 
could  only  expect  a  life  of  black  misery,  and  death  in  a 
garret.  There  were  also  the  Seguins,  then  his  landlords, 
who  had  shown  him  their  millions,  and  their  magnificent 
mansion,  full  of  treasures,  crushing  him  the  while,  treating 
him  with  derisive  pity  because  he  did  not  behave  sensibly 
like  themselves,  who  were  content  with  having  but  two 
children,  a  boy  and  a  girl.  And  even  those  poor  Moranges 
had  talked  to  him  of  giving  a  royal  dowry  to  their  one 
daughter  Reine,  dreaming  at  that  time  of  an  appointment 
that  would  bring  in  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  full 
of  contempt  for  the  misery  which  a  numerous  family 
entails.  And  then  the  very  Lepailleurs,  the  people  of  the 
mill,  had  evinced  distrust  because  there  were  twelve  francs 
owing  to  them  for  milk  and  eggs ;  for  it  had  seemed  to 
them  doubtful  whether  a  bourgeois,  insane  enough  to  have 
so  many  children,  could  possibly  pay  his  debts.  Ah  !  the 
views  of  the  others  had  then  appeared  to  be  correct ;  he 
had  repeated  to  himself  that  he  would  never  have  a  factory, 
nor  a  mansion,  nor  even  a  mill,  and  that  in  all  probability 
he  would  never  earn  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year.  The 
others  had  everything  and  he  nothing.  The  others,  the 
rich,  behaved  sensibly,  and  did  not  burden  themselves  with 
offspring ;  whereas,  he,  the  poor  man,  already  had  more 
children  than  he  could  provide  for.  What  madness  it  had 
seemed  to  be  ! 

But  forty  years  had  rolled  away,  and  behold  his  madness 
was  wisdom  !  He  had  conquered  by  his  divine  improvi- 
dence ;  the  poor  man  had  vanquished  the  wealthy.  He 
had  placed  his  trust  in  the  future,  and  now  the  whole 
harvest  was  garnered.  The  Beauchene  factory  was  his 
through  his  son  Denis ;  the  Seguins'  mansion  was  his 


FRUITFULNESS  459 

through  his  son  Ambroise ;  the  Lepailleurs'  mill  was 
his  through  his  son  Gregoire.  Tragical,  even  excessive 
punishment,  had  blown  those  sorry  Moranges  away  in  a 
tempest  of  blood  and  insanity.  And  other  social  wastage 
had  swept  by  and  rolled  into  the  gutter ;  Seraphine,  the 
useless  creature,  had  succumbed  to  her  passions  ^  the 
Moineauds  had  been  dispersed,  annihilated  by  their  poison- 
ous environment.  And  he,  Mathieu,  and  Marianne  alone 
remained  erect,  face  to  face  with  that  estate  of  Chantebled, 
which  they  had  conquered  from  the  Seguins,  and  where 
their  children,  Gervais  and  Claire,  at  present  reigned,  pro- 
longing the  dynasty  of  their  race.  This  was  their  king- 
dom ;  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see  the  fields  spread  out  with 
wondrous  fertility  under  the  sun's  farewell,  proclaiming  the 
battles,  the  heroic  creative  labor  of  their  lives.  There  was 
their  work,  there  was  what  they  had  produced,  whether  in 
the  realm  of  animate  or  inanimate  nature,  thanks  to  the 
power  of  love  within  them,  and  their  energy  of  will.  By 
love,  and  resolution,  and  action,  they  had  created  a  world. 

"  Look,  look  !  "  murmured  Mathieu,  waving  his  arm,  "  all 
that  has  sprung  from  us,  and  we  must  continue  to  love,  we 
must  continue  to  be  happy,  in  order  that  it  may  all  live." 

"  Ah  !  "  Marianne  gayly  replied,  "  it  will  live  forever 
now,  since  we  have  all  become  reconciled  and  united 
amid  our  victory." 

Victory  !  yes,  it  was  the  natural,  necessary  victory  that 
is  reaped  by  the  numerous  family  !  Thanks  to  numbers 
they  had  ended  by  invading  every  sphere  and  possessing 
everything.  Fruitfulness  was  the  invincible,  sovereign 
conqueress.  Yet  their  conquest  had  not  been  meditated 
and  planned ;  ever  serenely  loyal  in  their  dealings  with 
others,  they  owed  it  simply  to  the  fulfilment  of  duty 
throughout  their  long  years  of  toil.  And  they  now  stood 
before  it  hand  in  hand,  like  heroic  figures,  glorious  because 
they  had  ever  been  good  and  strong,  because  they  had 
created  abundantly,  because  they  had  given  abundance  of 
joy,  and  health,  and  hope  to  the  world  amid  all  the  ever- 
lasting struggles  and  the  everlasting  tears. 


XXIII 

AND  Mathieu  and  Marianne  lived  more  than  a  score  of 
years  longer,  and  Mathieu  was  ninety  years  old  and  Mari- 
anne eighty-seven,  when  their  three  eldest  sons,  Denis, 
Ambroise,  and  Gervais,  ever  erect  beside  them,  planned 
that  they  would  celebrate  their  diamond  wedding,  the 
seventieth  anniversary  of  their  marriage,  by  ?ifete  at  which 
they  would  assemble  all  the  members  of  the  family  at 
Chantebled. 

It  was  no  little  affair.  When  they  had  drawn  up  a  com- 
plete list,  they  found  that  one  hundred  and  fifty-eight  chil- 
dren,grandchildren,  and  great-grandchildren  had  sprung  from 
Mathieu  and  Marianne,  without  counting  a  few  little  ones 
of  a  fourth  generation.  By  adding  to  the  above  those  who 
had  married  into  the  family  as  husbands  and  wives  they 
would  be  three  hundred  in  number.  And  where  at  the  farm 
could  they  find  a  room  large  enough  for  the  huge  table  of 
the  patriarchal  feast  that  they  dreamt  of  ?  The  anniversary 
fell  on  June  2,  and  the  spring  that  year  was  one  of  incom- 
parable mildness  and  beauty.  So  they  decided  that  they 
would  lunch  out  of  doors,  and  place  the  tables  in  front  of 
the  old  pavilion,  on  the  large  lawn,  enclosed  by  curtains  of 
superb  elms  and  hornbeams,  which  gave  the  spot  the  aspect 
of  a  huge  hall  of  verdure.  There  they  would  be  at  home, 
on  the  very  breast  of  the  beneficent  earth,  under  the  central 
and  now  gigantic  oak,  planted  by  the  two  ancestors,  whose 
blessed  fruitfulness  the  whole  swarming  progeny  was  about 
to  celebrate. 

Thus  the  festival  was  settled  and  organized  amid  a  great 
impulse  of  love  and  joy.  All  were  eager  to  take  part  in  it, 
all  hastened  to  the  triumphal  gathering,  from  the  white-haired 

460 


FRUITFULNESS  461 

old  men  to  the  urchins  who  still  sucked  their  thumbs.  And 
the  broad  blue  sky  and  the  flaming  sun  were  bent  on  par- 
ticipating in  it  also,  as  well  as  the  whole  estate,  the  stream- 
ing springs  and  the  fields  in  flower,  giving  promise  of 
bounteous  harvests.  Magnificent  looked  the  huge  horse- 
shoe table  set  out  amid  the  grass,  with  handsome  china 
and  snowy  cloths  which  the  sunbeams  flecked  athwart  the 
foliage.  The  august  pair,  the  father  and  mother,  were  to 
sit  side  by  side,  in  the  centre,  under  the  oak  tree.  It  was 
decided  also  that  the  other  couples  should  not  be  separated, 
that  it  would  be  charming  to  place  them  side  by  side  accord- 
ing to  the  generation  they  belonged  to.  But  as  for  the 
young  folks,  the  youths  and  maidens,  the  urchins  and  the 
little  girls,  they,  it  was  thought,  might  well  be  left  to  seat 
themselves  as  their  fancy  listed. 

Early  in  the  morning  those  bidden  to  the  feast  began  to 
arrive  in  bands ;  the  dispersed  family  returned  to  the  com- 
mon nest,  swooping  down  upon  it  from  the  four  points  of 
the  compass.  But  alas  !  death's  scythe  had  been  at  work, 
and  there  were  many  who  could  not  come.  Departed  ones 
slept,  each  year  more  numerous,  in  the  peaceful,  flowery, 
Janvill  ecemetery.  Near  Rose  and  Blaise,  who  had  been 
the  first  to  depart,  others  had  gone  thither  to  sleep  the  eter- 
nal sleep,  each  time  carrying  away  a  little  more  of  the  fam- 
ily's heart,  and  making  of  that  sacred  spot  a  place  of  worship 
and  eternal  souvenir.  First  Charlotte,  after  long  illness, 
had  joined  Blaise,  happy  in  leaving  Berthe  to  replace  her 
beside  Mathieu  and  Marianne,  who  were  heart-stricken  by 
her  death,  as  if  indeed  they  were  for  the  second  time  losing 
their  dear  son.  Afterwards  their  daughter  Claire  had  like- 
wise departed  from  them,  leaving  the  farm  to  her  husband 
Frederic  and  her  brother  Gervais,  who  likewise  had  become 
a  widower  during  the  ensuing  year.  Then,  too,  Mathieu 
and  Marianne  had  lost  their  son  Gregoire,  the  master  of  the 
mill,  whose  widow  Therese  still  ruled  there  amid  a  num- 
erous progeny.  And  again  they  had  to  mourn  another  of 
their  daughters,  the  kind-hearted  Marguerite,  Dr.  Chambou- 
vet's  wife,  who  sickened  and  died,  through  having  sheltered 


462  FRUITFULNESS 

a  poor  workman's  little  children,  who  were  affected  with 
croup.  And  the  other  losses  could  no  longer  be  counted : 
among  them  were  some  who  had  married  into  the  family, 
wives  and  husbands,  and  there  were  in  particular  many 
children,  the  tithe  that  death  always  exacts,  those  who  are 
struck  down  by  the  storms  which  sweep  over  the  human 
crop,  all  the  dear  little  ones  for  whom  the  living  weep,  and 
who  sanctify  the  ground  in  which  they  rest. 

But  if  the  dear  departed  yonder  slept  in  deepest  silence, 
how  gay  was  the  uproar  and  how  great  the  victory  of  life 
that  morning  along  the  roads  which  led  to  Chantebled  !  The 
number  of  those  who  were  born  surpassed  that  of  those 
who  died.  From  each  that  departed,  a  whole  florescence 
of  living  beings  seemed  to  blossom  forth.  They  sprang  up 
in  dozens  from  the  ground  where  their  forerunners  had  laid 
themselves  to  sleep  when  weary  of  their  work.  And  they 
flocked  to  Chantebled  from  every  side,  even  as  swallows 
return  at  spring  to  revivify  their  old  nests,  filling  the  blue 
sky  with  the  joy  of  their  return.  Outside  the  farm,  vehi- 
cles were  ever  setting  down  fresh  families  with  troops  of 
children,  whose  sea  of  fair  heads  was  always  expanding. 
Great-grandfathers  with  snowy  hair  came  leading  little  ones 
who  could  scarcely  toddle.  There  were  very  nice-looking 
old  ladies  whom  young  girls  of  dazzling  freshness  assisted 
to  alight.  There  were  mothers  expecting  the  arrival  of 
other  babes,  and  fathers  to  whom  the  charming  idea  had 
occurred  of  inviting  their  daughters'  affianced  lovers.  And 
they  were  all  related,  they  had  all  sprung  from  a  common 
ancestry,  they  were  all  mingled  in  an  inextricable  tangle, 
fathers,  mothers,  brothers,  sisters,  fathers-in-law,  mothers- 
in-law,  brothers-in-law,  sisters-in-law,  sons,  daughters, 
uncles,  aunts,  and  cousins,  of  every  possible  degree,  down 
to  the  fourth  generation.  And  they  were  all  one  family ; 
one  sole  little  nation,  assembling  in  joy  and  pride  to  cele- 
brate that  diamond  wedding,  the  rare  prodigious  nuptials 
of  two  heroic  creatures  whom  life  had  glorified  and  from 
whom  all  had  sprung  !  And  what  an  epic,  what  a  Biblical 
numbering  of  that  people  suggested  itself!  How  even  name 


FRUITFULNESS  463 

all  those  who  entered  the  farm,  how  simply  set  forth  their 
names,  their  ages,  their  degree  of  relationship,  the  health, 
the  strength,  and  the  hope  that  they  had  brought  into  the 
world  ! 

Before  everybody  else  there  were  those  of  the  farm  itself, 
all  those  who  had  been  born  and  who  had  grown  up  there. 
Gervais,  now  sixty-two,  was  helped  by  his  two  eldest  sons, 
Leon  and  Henri,  who  between  them  had  ten  children ; 
while  his  three  daughters,  Mathilde,  Leontine,  and  Juli- 
enne, who  were  married  in  the  district,  in  like  way  num- 
bered between  them  twelve.  Then  Frederic,  Claire's 
husband,  who  was  five  years  older  than  Gervais,  had  sur- 
rendered his  post  as  a  faithful  lieutenant  to  his  son  Joseph, 
while  his  daughters  Angele  and  Lucille,  as  well  as  a  second 
son  Jules,  also  helped  on  the  farm,  the  four  supplying  a  troop 
of  fifteen  children,  some  of  them  boys  and  some  girls. 

Then,  of  all  those  who  came  from  without,  the  mill 
claimed  the  first  place.  Therese,  Gregoire's  widow,  arrived 
with  her  offspring,  her  son  Robert,  who  now  managed  the 
mill  under  her  control,  and  her  three  daughters,  Genevieve, 
Aline,  and  Natalie,  followed  by  quite  a  train  of  children, 
ten  belonging  to  the  daughters  and  four  to  Robert.  Next 
came  Louise,  notary  Mazaud's  wife,  and  Madeleine,  archi- 
tect Herbette's  wife,  followed  by  Dr.  Chambouvet,  who 
had  lost  his  wife,  the  good  Marguerite.  And  here  again  were 
three  valiant  companies ;  in  the  first,  four  daughters,  of 
whom  Colette  was  the  eldest ;  in  the  second,  five  sons  with 
Hilary  at  the  head  of  them ;  and  in  the  third,  a  son  and 
daughter  only,  Sebastien  and  Christine ;  the  whole,  how- 
ever, forming  quite  an  army,  for  there  were  twenty  of 
Mathieu's  great-grandchildren  in  the  rear. 

But  Paris  arrived  on  the  scene  with  Denis  and  his  wife 
Marthe,  who  headed  a  grand  cortege.  Denis,  now  nearly 
seventy,  and  a  great-grandfather  through  his  daughters  Hor- 
tense  and  Marcelle,  had  enjoyed  the  happy  rest  which  fol- 
lows accomplished  labor  ever  since  he  had  handed  his  works 
over  to  his  eldest  sons  Lucien  and  Paul,  who  were  both  men 
of  more  than  forty,  and  whose  own  sons  were  already  on 


464  FRUITFULNESS 

the  road  to  every  sort  of  fortune.  And  what  with  the 
mother  and  father,  the  four  children,  the  fifteen  grandchil- 
dren, and  the  three  great-grandchildren,  two  of  whom  were 
yet  in  swaddling  clothes,  this  was  really  an  invading  tribe 
packed  into  five  vehicles. 

Then  the  final  entry  was  that  of  the  little  nation  which 
had  sprung  from  Ambroise,  who  to  his  great  grief  had  early 
lost  his  wife  Andree.  His  was  such  a  green  old  age  that 
at  sixty-seven  he  still  directed  his  business,  in  which  his 
sons  Leonce  and  Charles  remained  simple  employes  like  his 
sons-in-law  —  the  husbands  of  his  daughters,  Pauline  and 
Sophie  —  who  trembled  before  him,  uncontested  king  that 
he  remained,  obeyed  by  one  and  all,  grandfather  of  seven 
big  bearded  young  men  and  nine  strong  young  women, 
through  four  of  whom  he  had  become  a  great-grandfather 
even  before  his  elder,  the  wise  Denis.  For  this  troop  six 
carriages  were  required.  And  the  defile  lasted  two  hours, 
and  the  farm  was  soon  full  of  a  happy,  laughing  throng, 
holiday-making  in  the  bright  June  sunlight. 

Mathieu  and  Marianne  had  not  yet  put  in  an  appearance. 
Ambroise,  who  was  the  grand  master  of  the  ceremonies 
that  day,  had  made  them  promise  to  remain  in  their  room, 
like  sovereigns  hidden  from  their  people,  until  he  should  go 
to  fetch  them.  He  desired  that  they  should  appear  in  all 
solemnity.  And  when  he  made  up  his  mind  to  summon 
them,  the  whole  nation  being  assembled  together,  he  found 
his  brother  Benjamin  on  the  threshold  of  the  house  defend- 
ing the  door  like  a  bodyguard. 

He,  Benjamin,  had  remained  the  one  idler,  the  one 
unfruitful  scion  of  that  swarming  tribe,  which  had  toiled 
and  multiplied  so  prodigiously.  Now  three  and  forty  years 
of  age,  without  a  wife  and  without  children,  he  lived,  it 
seemed,  solely  for  the  joy  of  the  old  home,  as  a  companion 
to  his  father  and  a  passionate  worshipper  of  his  mother, 
who  with  the  egotism  of  love  had  set  themselves  upon 
keeping  him  for  themselves  alone.  At  first  they  had  not 
been  opposed  to  his  marrying,  but  when  they  had  seen  him 
refuse  one  match  after  another,  they  had  secretly  felt  great 


FRUITFULNESS  465 

delight.  Nevertheless,  as  years  rolled  by,  some  unacknowl- 
edged remorse  had  come  to  them  amid  their  happiness  at 
having  him  beside  them  like  some  hoarded  treasure,  the 
delight  of  an  avaricious  old  age,  following  a  life  of  prodi- 
gality. Did  not  their  Benjamin  suffer  at  having  been  thus 
monopolized,  shut  up  for  their  sole  pleasure  within  the  four 
walls  of  their  house  ?  He  had  at  all  times  displayed  an 
anxious  dreaminess,  his  eyes  had  ever  sought  far-away 
things,  the  unknown  land  where  perfect  satisfaction  dwelt, 
yonder,  behind  the  horizon.  And  now  that  age  was  steal- 
ing upon  him  his  torment  seemed  to  increase,  as  if  he  were 
in  despair  at  finding  himself  unable  to  try  the  possibilities 
of  the  unknown,  before  he  ended  a  useless  life  devoid  of 
happiness. 

However,  Benjamin  moved  away  from  the  door,  Am- 
broise  gave  his  orders,  and  Mathieu  and  Marianne  appeared 
upon  the  verdant  lawn  in  the  sunlight.  An  acclamation, 
merry  laughter,  affectionate  clapping  of  hands  greeted  them. 
The  gay  excited  throng,  the  whole  swarming  family  cried 
aloud  :  "  Long  live  the  Father  !  Long  live  the  Mother  ! 
Long  life,  long  life  to  the  Pother  and  the  Mother ! " 

At  ninety  years  of  age  Mathieu  was  still  very  upright  and 
slim,  closely  buttoned  in  a  black  frock-coat  like  a  young 
bridegroom.  Over  his  bare  head  fell  a  snowy  fleece,  for 
after  long  wearing  his  hair  cut  short  he  had  now  in  a  final 
impulse  of  coquetry  allowed  it  to  grow,  so  that  it  seemed 
liked  the  renouveau  of  an  old  but  vigorous  tree.  Age  might 
have  withered  and  worn  and  wrinkled  his  face,  but  he  still 
retained  the  eyes  of  his  young  days,  large  lustrous  eyes,  at 
once  smiling  and  pensive,  which  still  bespoke  a  man  of 
thought  and  action,  one  who  was  very  simple,  very  gay,  and 
very  good-hearted.  And  Marianne  at  eighty-seven  years  of 
age  also  held  herself  very  upright  in  her  light  bridal  gown, 
still  strong  and  still  showing  some  of  the  healthy  beauty  of 
other  days.  With  hair  white  like  Mathieu's,  and  softened 
face,  illumined  as  by  a  last  glow  under  her  silky  tresses,  she 
resembled  one  of  those  sacred  marbles  whose  features  time 
has  ravined,  without,  however,  being  able  to  efface  from  them 


466  FRUITFULNESS 

the  tranquil  splendor  of  life.  She  seemed,  indeed,  like  some 
fruitful  Cybele,  retaining  all  firmness  of  contour,  and  living 
anew  in  the  broad  daylight  with  gentle  good  humor  spar- 
kling in  her  large  black  eyes. 

Arm-in-arm  close  to  one  another,  like  a  worthy  couple 
who  had  come  from  afar,  who  had  walked  on  side  by  side 
without  ever  parting  for  seventy  long  years,  Mathieu  and 
Marianne  smiled  with  tears  of  joy  in  their  eyes  at  the  whole 
swarming  family  which  had  sprung  from  their  love,  and 
which  still  acclaimed  them : 

"  Long  live  the  Father  !  Long  live  the  Mother !  Long 
life,  long  life  to  the  Father  and  the  Mother  ! " 

Then  came  the  ceremony  of  reciting  a  compliment  and 
offering  a  bouquet.  A  fair-haired  little  girl  named  Rose, 
five  years  of  age,  had  been  intrusted  with  this  duty.  She 
had  been  chosen  because  she  was  the  eldest  child  of  the 
fourth  generation.  She  was  the  daughter  of  Angeline,  who 
was  the  daughter  of  Berthe,  who  was  the  daughter  of  Char- 
lotte, wife  of  Blaise.  And  when  the  two  ancestors  saw  her 
approach  them  with  her  big  bouquet,  their  emotion  increased, 
happy  tears  again  gathered  in  their  eyes,  and  recollections 
faltered  on  their  lips  :  "  Oh  !  our  little  Rose  !  Our  Blaise, 
our  Charlotte ! " 

All  the  past  revived  before  them.  The  name  of  Rose 
had  been  given  to  the  child  in  memory  of  the  other  long- 
mourned  Rose,  who  had  been  the  first  to  leave  them,  and 
who  slept  yonder  in  the  little  cemetery.  There  in  his  turn 
had  Blaise  been  laid,  and  thither  Charlotte  had  followed 
them.  Then  Berthe,  Blaise's  daughter,  who  had  married 
Philippe  Havard,  had  given  birth  to  Angeline.  And,  later, 
Angeline,  having  married  Georges  Delmas,  had  given  birth 
to  Rose.  Berthe  and  Philippe  Havard,  Angeline  and  Georges 
Delmas  stood  behind  the  child.  And  she  represented  one 
and  all,  the  dead,  the  living,  the  whole  flourishing  line,  its 
many  griefs,  its  many  joys,  all  the  valiant  toil  of  creation, 
all  the  river  of  life  that  it  typified,  for  everything  ended  in 
her,  dear,  frail,  fair-haired  angel,  with  eyes  bright  like  the 
dawn,  in  whose  depths  the  future  sparkled. 


FRUITFULNESS  467 

"  Oh  !  our  Rose  !  our  Rose  !  " 

With  a  big  bouquet  between  her  little  hands  Rose  had 
stepped  forward.  She  had  been  learning  a  very  fine  compli- 
ment for  a  fortnight  past,  and  that  very  morning  she  had 
recited  it  to  her  mother  without  making  a  single  mistake. 
But  when  she  found  herself  there  among  all  these  people 
she  could  not  recollect  a  word  of  it.  Still  that  did  not 
trouble  her,  she  was  already  a  very  bold  little  damsel,  and 
she  frankly  dropped  her  bouquet  and  sprang  at  the  necks  of 
Mathieu  and  Marianne,  exclaiming  in  her  shrill,  flute-like 
voice :  "  Grandpapa,  grandmamma,  it's  your  fete,  and  I 
kiss  you  with  all  my  heart !  " 

And  that  suited  everybody  remarkably  well.  They  even 
found  it  far  better  than  any  compliment.  Laughter  and 
clapping  of  hands  and  acclamations  again  arose.  Then 
they  forthwith  began  to  take  their  seats  at  table. 

This,  however,  was  quite  an  affair,  so  large  was  the 
horse-shoe  table  spread  out  under  the  oak  on  the  short, 
freshly  cut  grass.  First  Mathieu  and  Marianne,  still  arm 
in  arm,  went  ceremoniously  to  seat  themselves  in  the  cen- 
tre with  their  backs  towards  the  trunk  of  the  great  tree. 
On  Mathieu's  left,  Marthe  and  Denis,  Louise  and  her 
husband,  notary  Mazaud,  took  their  places,  since  it  had 
been  fittingly  decided  that  the  husbands  and  wives  should 
not  be  separated.  On  the  right  of  Marianne  came 
Ambroise,  Therese,  Gervais,  Dr.  Chambouvet,  three  wid- 
owers and  a  widow,  then  another  married  couple,  Made- 
leine and  her  husband,  architect  Herbette,  and  then 
Benjamin  alone.  The  other  married  folks  afterwards 
installed  themselves  according  to  the  generation  they 
belonged  to ;  and  then,  as  had  been  decided,  youth  and 
childhood,  the  whole  troop  of  young  people  and  little  ones 
took  seats  as  they  pleased  amid  no  little  turbulence. 

What  a  moment  of  sovereign  glory  it  was  for  Mathieu 
and  Marianne  !  They  found  themselves  there  in  a  triumph 
of  which  they  would  never  have  dared  to  dream.  Life,  as 
if  to  reward  them  for  having  shown  faith  in  her,  for  hav- 
ing increased  her  sway  with  all  bravery,  seemed  to  have 


468  FRUITFULNESS 

taken  pleasure  in  prolonging  their  existences  beyond  the 
usual  limits  so  that  their  eyes  might  behold  the  marvellous 
blossoming  of  their  work.  The  whole  of  their  dear 
Chantebled,  everything  good  and  beautiful  that  they  had  there 
begotten  and  established,  participated  in  the  festival. 
From  the  cultivated  fields  that  they  had  set  in  the  place  of 
marshes  came  the  broad  quiver  of  great  coming  harvests ; 
from  the  pasture  lands  amid  the  distant  woods  came  the 
warm  breath  of  cattle  and  innumerable  flocks  which  ever 
increased  the  ark  of  life ;  and  they  heard,  too,  the  loud 
babble  of  the  captured  springs  with  which  they  had  fertil- 
ized the  now  fruitful  moorlands,  the  flow  of  that  water 
which  is  like  the  very  blood  of  our  mother  earth.  The 
social  task  was  accomplished,  bread  was  won,  subsistence 
had  been  created,  drawn  from  the  nothingness  of  barren 
soil. 

And  on  what  a  lovely  and  well-loved  spot  did  their 
happy,  grateful  race  offer  them  that  festival !  Those  elms 
and  hornbeams,  which  made  the  lawn  a  great  hall  of  green- 
ery, had  been  planted  by  themselves  ;  they  had  seen  them 
growing  day  by  day  like  the  most  peaceable  and  most 
sturdy  of  their  children.  And  in  particular  that  oak,  now 
so  gigantic,  thanks  to  the  clear  waters  of  the  adjoining 
basin  through  which  one  of  the  sources  ever  streamed,  was 
their  own  big  son,  one  that  dated  from  the  day  when  they 
had  founded  Chantebled,  he,  Mathieu,  digging  the  hole  and 
she,  Marianne,  holding  the  sapling  erect.  And  now,  as 
that  tree  stood  there,  shading  them  with  its  expanse  of 
verdure,  was  it  not  like  some  royal  symbol  of  the  whole 
family  ?  Like  that  oak  the  family  had  grown  and  multi- 
plied, ever  throwing  out  fresh  branches  which  spread  far 
over  the  ground;  and  like  that  oak  it  now  formed  by 
itself  a  perfect  forest  sprung  from  a  single  trunk,  vivified 
by  the  same  sap,  strong  in  the  same  health,  and  full  of 
song,  and  breeziness,  and  sunlight. 

Leaning  against  that  giant  tree  Mathieu  and  Marianne 
became  merged  in  its  sovereign  glory  and  majesty,  and  was 
not  their  royalty  akin  to  its  own  ?  Had  they  not  begotten 


FRUITFULNESS  469 

as  many  beings  as  the  tree  had  begotten  branches?  Did 
they  not  reign  there  over  a  nation  of  their  children,  who 
lived  by  them,  even  as  the  leaves  above  lived  by  the  tree  ? 
The  three  hundred  big  and  little  ones  seated  around  them 
were  but  a  prolongation  of  themselves ;  they  belonged  to 
the  same  tree  of  life,  they  had  sprung  from  their  love  and 
still  clung  to  them  by  every  fibre.  Mathieu  and  Marianne 
divined  how  joyous  they  all  were  at  glorifying  themselves 
in  making  much  of  them  ;  how  moved  the  elder  ones,  how 
turbulently  merry  the  younger  felt.  They  could  hear  their 
own  hearts  beating  in  the  breasts  of  the  fair-haired  urchins 
who  already  laughed  with  ecstasy  at  the  sight  of  the  cakes 
and  pastry  on  the  table.  And  their  work  of  human  crea- 
tion was  assembled  in  front  of  them  and  within  them,  in 
the  same  way  as  the  oak's  huge  dome  spread  out  above  it ; 
and  all  around  they  were  likewise  encompassed  by  the 
fruitfulness  of  their  other  work,  the  fertility  and  growth 
of  nature  which  had  increased  even  as  they  themselves 
multiplied. 

Then  was  the  true  beauty  which  had  its  abode  in 
Mathieu  and  Marianne  made  manifest,  that  beauty  of  hav- 
ing loved  one  another  for  seventy  years  and  of  still  wor- 
shipping one  another  now  even  as  on  the  first  day.  For 
seventy  years  had  they  trod  life's  pathway  side  by  side  and 
arm  in  arm,  without  a  quarrel,  without  ever  a  deed  of 
unfaithfulness.  They  could  certainly  recall  great  sorrows, 
but  these  had  always  come  from  without.  And  if  they 
had  sometimes  sobbed  they  had  consoled  one  another  by 
mingling  their  tears.  Under  their  white  locks  they  had 
retained  the  faith  of  their  early  days,  their  hearts  remained 
blended,  merged  one  into  the  other,  even  as  on  the  mor- 
row of  their  marriage,  each  having  then  been  freely  given 
and  never  taken  back.  In  them  the  power  of  love,  the 
will  of  action,  the  divine  desire  whose  flame  creates  worlds, 
had  happily  met  and  united.  He,  adoring  his  wife,  had 
known  no  other  joy  than  the  passion  of  creation,  looking 
on  the  work  that  had  to  be  performed  and  the  work  that 
was  accomplished  as  the  sole  why  and  wherefore  of  his 


470  FRUITFULNESS 

being,  his  duty  and  his  reward.  She,  adoring  her  husband, 
had  simply  striven  to  be  a  true  companion,  spouse,  mother, 
and  good  counsellor,  one  who  was  endowed  with  delicacy 
of  judgment  and  helped  to  overcome  all  difficulties.  Be- 
tween them  they  were  reason,  and  health,  and  strength. 
If,  too,  they  had  always  triumphed  athwart  obstacles  and 
tears,  it  was  only  by  reason  of  their  long  agreement,  their 
common  fealty  amid  an  eternal  renewal  of  their  love, 
whose  armor  rendered  them  invincible.  They  could  not 
be  conquered,  they  had  conquered  by  the  very  power  of 
their  union  without  designing  it.  And  they  ended  heroi- 
cally, as  conquerors  of  happiness,  hand  in  hand,  pure  as 
crystal  is,  very  great,  very  handsome,  the  more  so  from 
their  extreme  age,  their  long,  long  life,  which  one  love  had 
entirely  filled.  And  the  sole  strength  of  their  innumerable 
offspring  now  gathered  there,  the  conquering  tribe  that  had 
sprung  from  their  loins,  was  the  strength  of  union  inher- 
ited from  them  :  the  loyal  love  transmitted  from  ancestors 
to  children,  the  mutual  affection  which  impelled  them  to 
help  one  another  and  ever  fight  for  a  better  life  in  all 
brotherliness. 

But  mirthful  sounds  arose,  the  banquet  was  at  last  being 
served.  All  the  servants  of  the  farm  had  gathered  to  dis- 
charge this  duty — they  would  not  allow  a  single  person 
from  without  to  help  them.  Nearly  all  had  grown  up  on 
the  estate,  and  belonged,  as  it  were,  to  the  family.  By 
and  by  they  would  have  a  table  for  themselves,  and  in  their 
turn  celebrate  the  diamond  wedding.  And  it  was  amid  excla- 
mations and  merry  laughter  that  they  brought  the  first  dishes. 

All  at  once,  however,  the  serving  ceased,  silence  fell,  an 
unexpected  incident  attracted  all  attention.  A  young  man, 
whom  none  apparently  could  recognize,  was  stepping  across 
the  lawn,  between  the  arms  of  the  horse-shoe  table.  He 
smiled  gayly  as  he  walked  on,  only  stopping  when  he  was 
face  to  face  with  Mathieu  and  Marianne.  Then  in  a  loud 
voice  he  said  :  "  Good  day,  grandfather  !  good  day,  grand- 
mother !  You  must  have  another  cover  laid,  for  I  have 
come  to  celebrate  the  day  with  you." 


FRUITFULNESS  471 

The  onlookers  remained  silent,  in  great  astonishment. 
Who  was  this  young  man  whom  none  had  ever  seen  before  ? 
Assuredly  he  could  not  belong  to  the  family,  for  they  would 
have  known  his  name,  have  recognized  his  face  ?  Why, 
then,  did  he  address  the  ancestors  by  the  venerated  names 
of  grandfather  and  grandmother  ?  And  the  stupefaction 
was  the  greater  by  reason  of  his  extraordinary  resemblance 
to  Mathieu.  Assuredly,  he  was  a  Froment,  he  had  the 
bright  eyes  and  the  lofty  tower-like  forehead  of  the  race. 
Mathieu  lived  again  in  him,  such  as  he  appeared  in  a 
piously-preserved  portrait  representing  him  at  the  age  of 
seven-and-twenty  when  he  had  begun  the  conquest  of 
Chantebled. 

Mathieu,  for  his  part,  rose,  trembling,  while  Marianne 
smiled  divinely,  for  she  understood  the  truth  before  all  the 
others. 

"  Who  are  you,  my  child  ?  "  asked  Mathieu,  "  you,  who 
call  me  grandfather,  and  who  resemble  me  as  if  you  were 
my  brother  ?  " 

"  I  am  Dominique,  the  eldest  son  of  your  son  Nicolas, 
who  lives  with  my  mother,  Lisbeth,  in  the  vast  free  coun- 
try yonder,  the  other  France  !  " 

"•  And  how  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  seven-and-twenty  next  August,  when,  yon- 
der, the  waters  of  the  Niger,  the  good  giant,  come  back  to 
fertilize  our  spreading  fields." 

"  And  tell  us,  are  you  married,  have  you  any  children  ?  " 

"  I  have  taken  for  my  wife  a  French  woman,  born  in 
Senegal,  and  in  the  brick  house  which  I  have  built,  four 
children  are  already  growing  up  under  the  flaming  sun  of 
the  Soudan." 

"  And  tell  us  also,  have  you  any  brothers,  any  sisters  ? " 

"  My  father,  Nicolas,  and  Lisbeth,  my  mother,  have  had 
eighteen  children,  two  of  whom  are  dead.  We  are  sixteen, 
nine  boys  and  seven  girls." 

At  this  Mathieu  laughed  gayly,  as  if  to  say  that  his  son 
Nicolas  at  fifty  years  of  age  had  already  proved  a  more 
valiant  artisan  of  life  than  himself. 


472  FRUITFULNESS 

"  Well  then,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "  since  you  are  the  son 
of  my  son  Nicolas,  come  and  embrace  us  to  celebrate  our 
wedding.  And  a  cover  shall  be  placed  for  you  ;  you  are 
at  home  here." 

In  four  strides  Dominique  made  the  round  of  the  tables, 
then  cast  his  strong  arms  about  the  old  people  and  embraced 
them  —  they  the  while  feeling  faint  with  happy  emotion, 
so  delightful  was  that  surprise,  yet  another  child  falling 
among  them,  and  on  that  day,  as  from  some  distant  sky, 
and  telling  them  of  the  other  family,  the  other  nation  which 
had  sprung  from  them,  and  which  was  swarming  yonder 
with  increase  of  fruitfulness  amid  the  fiery  glow  of  the 
tropics. 

That  surprise  was  due  to  the  sly  craft  of  Ambroise,  who 
merrily  explained  how  he  had  prepared  it  like  a  masterly 
coup  de  theatre.  For  a  week  past  he  had  been  lodging  and 
hiding  Dominique  in  his  house  in  Paris ;  the  young  man 
having  been  sent  from  the  Soudan  by  his  father  to  nego- 
tiate certain  business  matters,  and  in  particular  to  order  of 
Denis  a  quantity  of  special  agricultural  machinery  adapted 
to  the  soil  of  that  far-away  region.  Thus  Denis  alone  had 
been  taken  into  the  other's  confidence. 

When  all  those  seated  at  the  table  saw  Dominique  in 
the  old  people's  arms,  and  learnt  the  whole  story,  there 
came  an  extraordinary  outburst  of  delight ;  deafening  accla- 
mations arose  once  more ;  and  what  with  their  enthusiastic 
greetings  and  embraces  they  almost  stifled  the  messenger 
from  the  sister  family,  that  prince  of  the  second  dynasty  of 
the  Froments  which  ruled  in  the  land  of  the  future  France. 

Mathieu  gayly  gave  his  orders  :  "  There,  place  his  cover 
in  front  of  us  !  He  alone  will  be  in  front  of  us  like  the 
ambassador  of  some  powerful  empire.  Remember  that, 
apart  from  his  father  and  mother,  he  represents  nine  brothers 
and  seven  sisters,  without  counting  the  four  children  that 
he  already  has  himself.  There,  my  boy,  sit  down  j  and 
now  let  the  service  continue." 

The  feast  proved  a  mirthful  one  under  the  big  oak  tree 
whose  shade  was  spangled  by  the  sunbeams.  Delicious 


FRUITFULNESS  473 

freshness  arose  from  the  grass,  friendly  nature  seemed  to 
contribute  its  share  of  caresses.  The  laughter  never  ceased, 
old  folks  became  playful  children  once  more  in  presence  of 
the  ninety  and  the  eighty-seven  years  of  the  bridegroom  and 
the  bride.  Faces  beamed  softly  under  white  and  dark  and 
sunny  hair  ;  the  whole  assembly  was  joyful,  beautiful  with 
a  healthy  rapturous  beauty;  the  children  radiant,  the  youths 
superb,  the  maidens  adorable,  the  married  folk  united,  side 
by  side.  And  what  good  appetites  there  were !  What  a 
gay  tumult  greeted  the  advent  of  each  fresh  dish  !  And 
how  the  good  wine  was  honored  to  celebrate  the  goodness 
of  life  which  had  granted  the  two  patriarchs  the  supreme 
grace  of  assembling  them  all  at  their  table  on  such  a  glori- 
ous occasion  !  At  dessert  came  toasts  and  health-drinking 
and  fresh  acclamations.  But,  amid  all  the  chatter  which 
flew  from  one  to  the  other  end  of  the  table,  the  conversa- 
tion invariably  reverted  to  the  surprise  at  the  outset :  that 
triumphal  entry  of  the  brotherly  ambassador.  It  was  he, 
his  unexpected  presence,  all  that  he  had  not  yet  said,  all 
the  adventurous  romance  which  he  surely  personated,  that 
fanned  the  growing  fever,  the  excitement  of  the'  family, 
intoxicated  by  that  open-air  gala.  And  as  soon  as  the  cof- 
fee was  served  no  end  of  questions  arose  on  every  side,  and 
he  had  to  speak  out. 

"  Well,  what  can  I  say  ?  "  he  replied,  laughing,  to  a 
question  put  to  him  by  Ambroise,  who  wished  to  know 
what  he  thought  of  Chantebled,  where  he  had  taken  him 
for  a  stroll  during  the  morning.  "  I'm  afraid  that  if  I 
speak  in  all  frankness,  you  won't  think  me  very  compli- 
mentary. Cultivation,  no  doubt,  is  quite  an  art  here,  a 
splendid  effort  of  will  and  science  and  organization,  as  is 
needed  to  draw  from  this  old  soil  such  crops  as  it  can  still 
produce.  You  toil  a  great  deal,  and  you  effect  prodigies. 
But,  good  heavens  !  how  small  your  kingdom  is  !  How 
can  you  live  here  without '  hurting  yourselves  by  ever  rub- 
bing against  other  people's  elbows  ?  You  are  all  heaped 
up  to  such  a  degree  that  you  no  longer  have  the  amount 
of  air  needful  for  a  man's  lungs.  Your  largest  stretches 


474  FRUITFULNESS 

of  land,  what  you  call  your  big  estates,  are  mere  clods  of 
soil  where  the  few  cattle  that  one  sees  look  to  me  like  lost 
ants.  But  ah!  the  immensity  of  our  Niger;  the  immen- 
sity of  the  plains  it  waters ;  the  immensity  of  our  fields, 
whose  only  limit  is  the  distant  horizon  !  " 

Benjamin  had  listened,  quivering.  Ever  since  that  son 
of  the  great  river  had  arrived,  he  had  continued  gazing  at 
him,  with  passion  rising  in  his  dreamy  eyes.  And  on 
hearing  him  speak  in  this  fashion  he  could  no  longer 
restrain  himself,  but  rose,  went  round  the  table,  and  sat 
down  beside  him. 

u  The  Niger  —  the  immense  plains  —  tell  us  all  about 
them,"  he  said. 

"  The  Niger,  the  good  giant,  the  father  of  us  all  over 
yonder ! "  responded  Dominique.  "  I  was  barely  eight 
years  old  when  my  parents  quitted  Senegal,  yielding  to  an 
impulse  of  reckless  bravery  and  wild  hope,  possessed  by  a 
craving  to  plunge  into  the  Soudan  and  conquer  as  chance 
might  will  it.  There  are  many  days'  march  among  rocks 
and  scrub  and  rivers  from  St.  Louis  to  our  present  farm, 
far  beyond  Djenny.  And  I  no  longer  remember  the  first 
journey.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  sprang  from  good  father 
Niger  himself,  from  the  wondrous  fertility  of  his  waters. 
He  is  gentle  but  immense,  rolling  countless  waves  like  the 
sea,  and  so  broad,  so  vast,  that  no  bridge  can  span  him  as 
he  flows  from  horizon  to  horizon.  He  carries  archipela- 
goes on  his  breast,  and  stretches  out  arms  covered  with 
herbage  like  pasture  land.  And  there  are  the  depths  where 
flotillas  of  huge  fishes  roam  at  their  ease.  Father  Niger  has 
his  tempests,  too,  and  his  days  of  fire,  when  his  waters  beget 
life  in  the  burning  clasp  of  the  sun.  And  he  has  his  delight- 
ful nights,  his  soft  and  rosy  nights,  when  peace  descends  on 
earth  from  the  stars.  .  .  .  He  is  the  ancestor,  the  founder, 
the  fertilizer  of  the  Western  Soudan,  which  he  has  dowered 
with  incalculable  wealth,  wresting  it  from  the  invasion  of 
neighboring  Saharas,  building  it  up  of  his  own  fertile  ooze. 
It  is  he  who  every  year  at  regular  seasons  floods  the  valley 
like  an  ocean  and  leaves  it  rich,  pregnant,  as  it  were,  with 


FRUITFULNESS  475 

amazing  vegetation.  Even  like  the  Nile,  he  has  vanquished 
the  sands  ;  he  is  the  father  of  untold  generations,  the  crea- 
tive deity  of  a  world  as  yet  unknown,  which  in  later  times 
will  enrich  old  Europe.  .  .  .  And  the  valley  of  the  Niger, 
the  good  giant's  colossal  daughter.  Ah  !  what  pure  im- 
mensity is  hers ;  what  a  flight,  so  to  say,  into  the  infinite  ! 
The  plain  opens  and  expands,  unbroken  and  limitless. 
Ever  and  ever  comes  the  plain,  fields  are  succeeded  by 
other  fields  stretching  out  of  sight,  whose  end  a  plough 
would  only  reach  in  months  and  months.  All  the  food 
needed  for  a  great  nation  will  be  reaped  there  when  culti- 
vation is  practised  with  a  little  courage  and  a  little  science, 
for  it  is  still  a  virgin  kingdom  such  as  the  good  river  cre- 
ated it,  thousands  of  years  ago.  To-morrow  this  kingdom 
will  belong  to  the  workers  who  are  bold  enough  to  take  it, 
each  carving  for  himself  a  domain  as  large  as  his  strength 
of  toil  can  dream  of;  not  an  estate  of  acres,  but  leagues 
and  leagues  of  ploughland  wavy  with  eternal  crops.  .  .  . 
And  what  breadth  of  atmosphere  there  is  in  that  immen- 
sity !  What  delight  it  is  to  inhale  all  the  air  of  that  space 
at  one  breath,  and  how  healthy  and  strong  the  life,  for  one 
is  no  longer  piled  one  upon  the  other,  but  one  feels  free 
and  powerful,  master  of  that  part  of  the  earth  which  one 
has  desired  under  the  sun  which  shines  for  all." 

Benjamin  listened  and  questioned,  never  satisfied.  "  How 
are  you  installed  there  ?  "  he  asked.  "  How  do  you  live  ? 
What  are  your  habits  ?  What  is  your  work  ?  " 

Dominique  began  to  laugh  again,  conscious  as  he  was 
that  he  was  astonishing,  upsetting  all  these  unknown  rela- 
tives who  pressed  so  close  to  him,  aglow  with  increasing 
curiosity.  Women  and  old  men  had  in  turn  left  their 
places  to  draw  near  to  him ;  even  children  had  gathered 
around,  as  if  to  listen  to  a  fine  story. 

"  Oh !  we  live  in  republican  fashion,"  said  he ;  "  every 
member  of  our  community  has  to  help  in  the  common  fra- 
ternal task.  The  family  counts  more  or  less  expert  artisans 
of  all  kinds  for  the  rough  work.  My  father  in  particular 
has  revealed  himself  to  be  a  very  skilful  mason,  for  he  had 


476  FRUITFULNESS 

to  build  a  place  for  us  when  we  arrived.  He  even  made 
his  own  bricks,  thanks  to  some  deposits  of  clayey  soil  which 
exist  near  Djenny.  So  our  farm  is  now  a  little  village  :  each 
married  couple  will  have  its  own  house.  Then,  too,  we  are 
not  only  agriculturists,  we  are  fishermen  and  hunters  also. 
We  have  our  boats  ;  the  Niger  abounds  in  fish  to  an  ex- 
traordinary degree,  and  there  are  wonderful  hauls  at  times. 
And  even  the  shooting  and  hunting  would  suffice  to  feed 
us ;  game  is  plentiful,  there  are  partridges  and  wild  guinea- 
fowl,  not  to  mention  the  flamingoes,  the  pelicans,  the  egrets, 
the  thousands  of  creatures  who  do  not  prey  on  one  another. 
Black  lions  visit  us  at  times :  eagles  fly  slowly  over  our 
heads ;  at  dusk  hippopotami  come  in  parties  of  three  and 
four  to  gambol  in  the  river  with  the  clumsy  grace  of  negro 
children  bathing.  But,  after  all,  we  are  more  particularly 
cultivators,  kings  of  the  plain,  especially  when  the  waters 
of  the  Niger  withdraw  after  fertilizing  our  fields.  Our 
estate  has  no  limits ;  it  stretches  as  far  as  we  can  labor. 
And  ah  !  if  you  could  only  see  the  natives,  who  do  not 
even  plough,  but  have  few  if  any  appliances  beyond  sticks, 
with  which  they  just  scratch  the  soil  before  confiding  the 
seed  to  it !  There  is  no  trouble,  no  worry ;  the  earth  is 
rich,  the  sun  ardent,  and  thus  the  crop  will  always  be  a 
fine  one.  When  we  ourselves  employ  the  plough,  when 
we  bestow  a  little  care  on  the  soil  which  teems  with  life, 
what  prodigious  crops  there  are,  an  abundance  of  grain  such 
as  your  barns  could  never  hold  !  As  soon  as  we  possess 
the  agricultural  machinery,  which  I  have  come  to  order 
here  in  France,  we  shall  need  flotillas  of  boats  in  order  to 
send  you  the  overplus  of  our  granaries.  .  .  .  When  the 
river  subsides,  when  its  waters  fall,  the  crop  we  more  par- 
ticularly grow  is  rice ;  there  are,  indeed,  plains  of  rice, 
which  occasionally  yield  two  crops.  Then  come  millet 
and  ground-beans,  and  by  and  by  will  come  corn,  when  we 
can  grow  it  on  a  large  scale.  Vast  cotton  fields  follow  one 
after  the  other,  and  we  also  grow  manioc  and  indigo,  while 
in  our  kitchen  gardens  we  have  onions  and  pimentoes,  and 
gourds  and  cucumbers.  And  I  don't  mention  the  natural 


FRUITFULNESS  477 

vegetation,  the  precious  gum-trees,  of  which  we  possess 
quite  a  forest ;  the  butter-trees,  the  flour-trees,  the  silk- 
trees,  which  grow  on  our  ground  like  briers  alongside  your 
roads.  .  .  .  Finally,  we  are  shepherds;  we  own  ever-in- 
creasing flocks,  whose  numbers  we  don't  even  know.  Our 
goats,  our  bearded  sheep  may  be  counted  by  the  thousand ; 
our  horses  scamper  freely  through  paddocks  as  large  as 
cities,  and  when  our  hunch-backed  cattle  come  down  to 
the  Niger  to  drink  at  that  hour  of  serene  splendor  the  sun- 
set, they  cover  a  league  of  the  river  banks.  .  .  .  And, 
above  everything  else,  we  are  free  men  and  joyous  men, 
working  for  the  delight  of  living  without  restraint,  and  our 
reward  is  the  thought  that  our  work  is  very  great  and  good 
and  beautiful,  since  it  is  the  creation  of  another  France,  the 
sovereign  France  of  to-morrow." 

From  that  moment  Dominique  paused  no  more.  There 
was  no  longer  any  need  to  question  him,  he  poured  forth  all 
the  beauty  and  grandeur  in  his  mind.  He  spoke  of  Djenny, 
the  ancient  queen  city,  whose  people  and  whose  monuments 
came  from  Egypt,  the  city  which  even  yet  reigns  over  the 
valley.  He  spoke  of  four  other  centres,  Bamakoo,  Niamina, 
Segu,  and  Sansandig,  big  villages  which  would  some  day  be 
great  towns.  And  he  spoke  particularly  of  Timbuctoo  the 
glorious,  so  long  unknown,  with  a  veil  of  legends  cast  over 
it  as  if  it  were  some  forbidden  paradise,  with  its  gold,  its 
ivory,  its  beautiful  women,  all  rising  like  a  mirage  of  inac- 
cessible delight  beyond  the  devouring  sands.  He  spoke  of 
Timbuctoo,  the  gate  of  the  Sahara  and  the  Western  Soudan, 
the  frontier  town  where  life  ended  and  met  and  mingled, 
whither  the  camel  of  the  desert  brought  the  weapons  and 
merchandise  of  Europe  as  well  as  salt,  that  indispensable 
commodity,  and  where  the  pirogues  of  the  Niger  landed  the 
precious  ivory,  the  surface  gold,  the  ostrich  feathers,  the 
gum,  the  crops,  all  the  wealth  of  the  fruitful  valley.  He 
spoke  of  Timbuctoo  the  store-place,  the  metropolis  and  mar- 
ket of  Central  Africa,  with  its  piles  of  ivory,  its  piles  of  virgin 
gold,  its  sacks  of  rice,  millet,  and  ground-nuts,  its  cakes  of  in- 
digo, its  tufts  of  ostrich  plumes,  its  metals,  its  dates,  its  stuffs, 


478  FRUITFULNESS 

its  iron-ware,  and  particularly  its  slabs  of  rock  salt,  brought  on 
the  backs  of  beasts  of  burden  from  Taudeni,  the  frightful 
Saharian  city  of  salt,  whose  soil  is  salt  for  leagues  around, 
an  infernal  mine  of  that  salt  which  is  so  precious  in  the 
Soudan  that  it  serves  as  a  medium  of  exchange,  as  money 
more  precious  even  than  gold.  And  finally,  he  spoke  of 
Timbuctoo  impoverished,  fallen  from  its  high  estate,  the 
opulent  and  resplendent  city  of  former  times  now  almost  in 
ruins,  hiding  remnants  of  its  treasures  behind  cracked  walls 
in  fear  of  the  robbers  of  the  desert ;  but  withal  apt  to 
become  once  more  a  city  of  glory  and  fortune,  royally  seated 
as  it  is  between  the  Soudan,  that  granary  of  abundance,  and 
the  Sahara,  the  road  to  Europe,  as  soon  as  France  shall 
have  opened  that  road,  have  connected  the  provinces 
of  her  new  empire,  and  have  founded  that  huge  new 
France  of  which  the  ancient  fatherland  will  be  but  the 
directing  mind. 

"That  is  the  dream!"  cried  Dominique,  "that  is  the 
gigantic  work  which  the  future  will  achieve  !  Algeria,  con- 
nected with  Timbuctoo  by  the  Sahara  railway  line,  over 
which  electric  engines  will  carry  the  whole  of  old  Europe 
through  the  far  expanse  of  sand  !  Timbuctoo  connected 
with  Senegal  by  flotillas  of  steam  vessels  and  yet  other  rail- 
ways, all  intersecting  the  vast  empire  on  every  side!  New 
France  connected  with  mother  France,  the  old  land,  by  a 
wondrous  development  of  the  means  of  communication, 
and  founded,  and  got  ready  for  the  hundred  millions  of 
inhabitants  who  will  some  day  spring  up  there !  .  .  . 
Doubtless  these  things  cannot  be  done  in  a  night.  The 
trans-Saharian  railway  is  not  yet  laid  down ;  there  are  two 
thousand  five  hundred  kilometres1  of  bare  desert  to  be  crossed 
which  can  hardly  tempt  railway  companies  ;  and  a  certain 
amount  of  prosperity  must  be  developed  by  starting  culti- 
vation, seeking  and  working  mines,  and  increasing  exporta- 
tions  before  a  pecuniary  effort  can  be  possible  on  the  part 
of  the  motherland.  Moreover,  there  is  the  question  of  the 
natives,  mostly  of  gentle  race,  though  some  are  ferocious 

1  About  1,553  English  mil«. 


FRUITFULNESS  479 

bandits,  whose  savagery  is  increased  by  religious  fanaticism, 
thus  rendering  the  difficulties  of  our  conquest  all  the  greater. 
Until  the  terrible  problem  of  Islamism  is  solved  we  shall 
always  be  coming  in  conflict  with  it.  And  only  life,  long 
years  of  life,  can  create  a  new  nation,  adapt  it  to  the  new 
land,  blend  diverse  elements  together,  and  yield  normal 
existence,  homogeneous  strength,  and  genius  proper  to  the 
clime.  But  no  matter !  From  this  day  a  new  France  is 
born  yonder,  a  huge  empire;  and  it  needs  our  blood — and 
some  must  be  given  it,  in  order  that  it  may  be  peopled  and 
be  able  to  draw  its  incalculable  wealth  from  the  soil, 
and  become  the  greatest,  the  strongest,  and  the  mightiest  in 
the  world  !  " 

Transported  with  enthusiasm,  quivering  at  the  thought 
of  the  distant  ideal  at  last  revealed  to  him,  Benjamin  sat 
there  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  Ah  !  the  healthy  life !  the 
noble  life  !  the  other  life  !  the  whole  mission  and  work  of 
which  he  had  as  yet  but  confusedly  dreamt !  Again  he 
asked  a  question  :  "  And  are  there  many  French  families 
there,  colonizing  like  yours  ?  " 

Dominique  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  "  Oh,  no,"  said  he, 
"  there  are  certainly  a  few  colonists  in  our  old  possessions 
of  Senegal,  but  yonder  in  the  Niger  valley,  beyond  Djenny, 
there  are,  I  think,  only  ourselves.  We  are  the  pioneers, 
the  vanguard,  the  riskers  full  of  faith  and  hope.  And  there 
is  some  merit  in  it,  for  to  sensible  stay-at-home  folks  it  all 
seems  like  defying  common  sense.  Can  you  picture  it  ?  A 
French  family  installed  among  savages,  and  unprotected, 
save  for  the  vicinity  of  a  little  fort,  where  a  French  officer 
commands  a  dozen  native  soldiers  —  a  French  family,  which 
is  sometimes  called  upon  to  fight  in  person,  and  which 
establishes  a  farm  in  a  land  where  the  fanaticism  of  some 
head  tribesman  may  any  day  stir  up  trouble.  It  seems  so 
insane  that  folks  get  angry  at  the  mere  thought  of  it,  yet  it 
enraptures  us  and  gives  us  gayety  and  health,  and  the 
courage  to  achieve  victory.  We  are  opening  the  road,  we 
are  giving  the  example,  we  are  carrying  our  dear  old  France 
yonder,  taking  to  ourselves  a  huge  expanse  of  virgin  land, 


480  FRUITFULNESS 

which  will  become  a  province.  We  have  already  founded 
a  village  which  in  a  hundred  years  will  be  a  great  town. 
In  the  colonies  no  race  is  more  fruitful  than  the  French, 
though  it  seems  to  become  barren  on  its  own  ancient  soil. 
Thus  we  shall  swarm  and  swarm,  and  fill  the  world !  So 
come  then,  come  then,  all  of  you ;  since  here  you  are  set 
too  closely,  since  you  lack  air  in  your  little  fields  and  your 
overheated,  pestilence-breeding  towns.  There  is  room  for 
everybody  yonder ;  there  are  new  lands,  there  is  open  air 
that  none  has  breathed,  and  there  is  a  task  to  be  accom- 
plished which  will  make  all  of  you  heroes,  strong,  sturdy 
men,  well  pleased  to  live  !  Come  with  me.  I  will  take 
the  men,  I  will  take  all  the  women  who  are  willing,  and 
you  will  carve  for  yourselves  other  provinces  and  found 
other  cities  for  the  future  glory  and  power  of  the  great  new 
France." 

He  laughed  so  gayly,  he  was  so  handsome,  so  spirited, 
so  robust,  that  once  again  the  whole  table  acclaimed  him. 
They  would  certainly  not  follow  him  yonder,  for  all  those 
married  couples  already  had  their  own  nests ;  and  all  those 
young  folks  were  already  too  strongly  rooted  to  the  old  land 
by  the  ties  of  their  race  —  a  race  which  after  displaying 
such  adventurous  instincts  has  now  fallen  asleep,  as  it  were, 
at  its  own  fireside.  But  what  a  marvellous  story  it  all 
was  —  a  story  to  which  big  and  little  alike,  had  listened  in 
rapture,  and  which  to-morrow  would,  doubtless,  arouse 
within  them  a  passion  for  glorious  enterprise  far  away  ! 
The  seed  of  the  unknown  was  sown,  and  would  grow  into 
a  crop  of  fabulous  magnitude. 

For  the  moment  Benjamin  was  the  only  one  who  cried 
amid  the  enthusiasm  which  drowned  his  words  :  "  Yes,  yes, 
I  want  to  live.  Take  me,  take  me  with  you !  " 

But  Dominique  resumed,  by  way  of  conclusion  :  "  And 
there  is  one  thing,  grandfather,  which  I  have  not  yet  told 
you.  My  father  has  given  the  name  of  Chantebled  to  our 
farm  yonder.  He  often  tells  us  how  you  founded  your 
estate  here,  in  an  impulse  of  far-seeing  audacity,  although 
everybody  jeered  and  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  declared 


FRUITFULNESS  481 

that  you  must  be  mad.  And,  yonder,  my  father  has  to  put 
up  with  the  same  derision,  the  same  contemptuous  pity,  for 
people  declare  that  the  good  Niger  will  some  day  sweep 
away  our  village,  even  if  a  band  of  prowling  natives  does 
not  kill  and  eat  us  !  But  I'm  easy  in  mind  about  all  that, 
we  shall  conquer  as  you  conquered,  for  what  seems  to  be 
the  folly  of  action  is  really  divine  wisdom.  There  will  be 
another  kingdom  of  the  Froments  yonder,  another  huge 
Chantebled,  of  which  you  and  my  grandmother  will  be  the 
ancestors,  the  distant  patriarchs,  worshipped  like  deities.  .  .  . 
And  I  drink  to  your  health,  grandfather,  and  I  drink  to 
yours,  grandmother,  on  behalf  of  your  other  future  people, 
who  will  grow  up  full  of  spirit  under  the  burning  sun  of 
the  tropics !  " 

Then  with  great  emotion  Mathieu,  who  had  risen, 
replied  in  a  powerful  voice :  "  To  your  health !  my  boy. 
To  the  health  of  my  son  Nicolas,  his  wife,  Lisbeth,  and 
all  who  have  been  born  from  them  !  And  to  the  health  of 
all  who  will  follow,  from  generation  to  generation  !  " 

And  Marianne,  who  had  likewise  risen,  in  her  turn  said  : 
11  To  the  health  of  your  wives,  and  your  daughters,  your 
spouses  and  your  mothers  !  To  the  health  of  those  who 
will  love  and  produce  the  greatest  sum  of  life,  in  order  that 
the  greatest  possible  sum  of  happiness  may  follow  !  " 

Then,  the  banquet  ended,  they  quitted  the  table  and 
spread  freely  over  the  lawn.  There  was  a  last  ovation 
around  Mathieu  and  Marianne,  who  were  encompassed  by 
their  eager  offspring.  At  one  and  the  same  time  a  score 
of  arms  were  outstretched,  carrying  children,  whose  fair  or 
dark  heads  they  were  asked  to  kiss.  Aged  as  they  were, 
returning  to  a  divine  state  of  childhood,  they  did  not  always 
recognize  those  little  lads  and  lasses.  They  made  mistakes, 
used  wrong  names,  fancied  that  one  child  was  another. 
Laughter  thereupon  arose,  the  mistakes  were  rectified,  and 
appeals  were  made  to  the  old  people's  memory.  They 
likewise  laughed,  the  errors  were  amusing,  but  it  mattered 
little  if  they  no  longer  remembered  a  name,  the  child  at  any 
rate  belonged  to  the  harvest  that  had  sprung  from  them. 


482  FRUITFULNESS 

Then  there  were  certain  granddaughters  and  great-grand- 
daughters whom  they  themselves  summoned  and  kissed  by 
way  of  bringing  good  luck  to  the  babes  that  were  expected, 
the  children  of  their  children's  children,  the  race  which 
would  ever  spread  and  perpetuate  them  through  the  far-off 
ages.  And  there  were  mothers,  also,  who  were  nursing, 
mothers  whose  little  ones,  after  sleeping  quietly  during  the 
feast,  had  now  awakened,  shrieking  their  hunger  aloud. 
These  had  to  be  fed,  and  the  mothers  merrily  seated  them- 
selves together  under  the  trees  and  gave  them  the  breast  in 
all  serenity.  Therein  lay  the  royal  beauty  of  woman,  wife 
and  mother;  fruitful  maternity  triumphed  over  virginity  by 
which  life  is  slain.  Ah !  might  manners  and  customs 
change,  might  the  idea  of  morality  and  the  idea  of  beauty 
be  altered,  and  the  world  recast,  based  on  the  triumphant 
beauty  of  the  mother  suckling  her  babe  in  all  the  majesty 
of  her  symbolism  !  From  fresh  sowings  there  ever  came 
fresh  harvests,  the  sun  ever  rose  anew  above  the  horizon, 
and  milk  streamed  forth  endlessly  like  the  eternal  sap 
of  living  humanity.  And  that  river  of  milk  carried  life 
through  the  veins  of  the  world,  and  expanded  and  over- 
flowed for  the  centuries  of  the  future  ! 

The  greatest  possible  sum  of  life  in  order  that  the  great- 
est possible  happiness  might  result:  that  was  the  act  of 
faith  in  life,  the  act  of  hope  in  the  justice  and  goodness  of 
life's  work.  Victorious  fruitfulness  remained  the  one  true 
force,  the  sovereign  power  which  alone  moulded  the  future. 
She  was  the  great  revolutionary,  the  incessant  artisan  of 
progress,  the  mother  of  every  civilization,  ever  re-creating 
her  army  of  innumerable  fighters,  throwing  through  the 
centuries  millions  after  millions  of  poor  and  hungry  and 
rebellious  beings  into  the  fight  for  truth  and  justice.  Not 
a  single  forward  step  in  history  has  ever  been  taken  with- 
out numerousness  having  urged  humanity  forward.  To- 
morrow, like  yesterday,  will  be  won  by  the  swarming  of 
the  multitude  whose  quest  is  happiness.  And  to-morrow 
will  give  the  benefits  which  our  age  has  awaited ;  eco- 
nomic equality  obtained  even  as  political  equality  has  been 


FRUITFULNESS  483 

obtained ;  a  just  apportionment  of  wealth  rendered  easy  ; 
and  compulsory  work  re-established  as  the  one  glorious 
and  essential  need. 

It  is  not  true  that  labor  has  been  imposed  on  mankind 
as  punishment  for  sin,  it  is  on  the  contrary  an  honor,  a 
mark  of  nobility,  the  most  precious  of  boons,  the  joy,  the 
health,  the  strength,  the  very  soul  of  the  world,  which  itself 
labors  incessantly,  ever  creating  the  future.  And  misery, 
the  great,  abominable  social  crime,  will  disappear  amid  the 
glorification  of  labor,  the  distribution  of  the  universal  task 
among  one  and  all,  each  accepting  his  legitimate  share  of 
duties  and  rights.  And  may  children  come,  they  will 
simply  be  instruments  of  wealth,  they  will  but  increase  the 
human  capital,  the  free  happiness  of  a  life  in  which  the 
children  of  some  will  no  longer  be  beasts  of  burden,  or 
food  for  slaughter  or  for  vice,  to  serve  the  egotism  of 
the  children  of  others.  And  life  will  then  again  prove  the 
conqueror ;  there  will  come  the  renascence  of  life,  honored 
and  worshipped,  the  religion  of  life  so  long  crushed  beneath 
the  hateful  nightmare  of  Roman  Catholicism,  from  which 
on  divers  occasions  the  nations  have  sought  to  free  them- 
selves by  violence,  and  which  they  will  drive  away  at  last 
on  the  now  near  day  when  cult  and  power,  and  sovereign 
beauty  shall  be  vested  in  the  fruitful  earth  and  the  fruitful 
spouse. 

In  that  last  resplendent  hour  of  eventide,  Mathieu  and 
Marianne  reigned  by  virtue  of  their  numerous  race.  They 
ended  as  heroes  of  life,  because  of  the  great  creative  work 
which  they  had  accomplished  amid  battle  and  toil  and  grief. 
Often  had  they  sobbed,  but  with  extreme  old  age  had  come 
peace,  deep  smiling  peace,  made  up  of  the  good  labor 
performed  and  the  certainty  of  approaching  rest  while  their 
children  and  their  children's  children  resumed  the  fight, 
labored  and  suffered,  lived  in  their  own  turn.  And  a  part 
of  Mathieu  and  Marianne's  heroic  grandeur  sprang  from  the 
divine  desire  with  which  they  had  glowed,  the  desire  which 
moulds  and  regulates  the  world.  They  were  like  a  sacred 
temple  in  which  the  god  had  fixed  his  abode,  they  were 


484  FRUITFULNESS 

animated  by  the  inextinguishable  fire  with  which  the  universe 
ever  burns  for  the  work  of  continual  creation.  Their  radiant 
beauty  under  their  white  hair  came  from  the  light  which  yet 
filled  their  eyes,  the  light  of  love's  power,  which  age  had 
been  unable  to  extinguish.  Doubtless,  as  they  themselves 
jestingly  remarked  at  times,  they  had  been  prodigals,  their 
family  had  been  such  a  large  one.  But,  after  all,  had  they 
not  been  right  ?  Their  children  had  diminished  no  other's 
share,  each  had  come  with  his  or  her  own  means  of  sub- 
sistence. And,  besides,  'tis  good  to  garner  in  excess  when 
the  granaries  of  a  country  are  empty.  Many  such  improvi- 
dents  are  needed  to  combat  the  egotism  of  others  at  times 
of  great  dearth.  Amid  all  the  frightful  loss  and  wastage, 
the  race  is  strengthened,  the  country  is  made  afresh,  a  good 
civic  example  is  given  by  such  healthy  prodigality  as 
Mathieu  and  Marianne  had  shown. 

But  a  last  act  of  heroism  was  required  of  them.  A  month 
after  the  festival,  when  Dominique  was  on  the  point  of 
returning  to  the  Soudan,  Benjamin  one  evening  told  them 
of  his  passion,  of  the  irresistible  summons  from  the  unknown 
distant  plains,  which  he  could  but  obey. 

"  Dear  father,  darling  mother,  let  me  go  with  Dominique ! 
I  have  struggled,  I  feel  horrified  with  myself  at  quitting  you 
thus,  at  your  great  age.  But  I  suffer  too  dreadfully ;  my 
soul  is  full  of  yearnings,  and  seems  ready  to  burst ;  and  I 
shall  die  of  shameful  sloth,  if  I  do  not  go." 

They  listened  with  breaking  hearts.  Their  son's  words 
did  not  surprise  them;  they  had  heard  them  coming  ever 
since  their  diamond  wedding.  And  they  trembled,  and  felt 
that  they  could  not  refuse;  for  they  knew  that  they  were 
guilty  in  having  kept  their  last-born  in  the  family  nest  after 
surrendering  to  life  all  the  others.  Ah  !  how  insatiable  life 
was  —  it  would  not  so  much  as  suffer  that  tardy  avarice  of 
theirs;  it  demanded  even  the  precious,  discreetly  hidden 
treasure  from  which,  with  jealous  egotism,  they  had  dreamt 
of  parting  only  when  they  might  find  themselves  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  grave. 

Deep    silence    reigned ;    but    at    last    Mathieu    slowly 


FRUITFULNESS  485 

answered  :  "  I  cannot  keep  you  back,  my  son  ;  go  whither 
life  calls  you.  ...  If  I  knew,  however,  that  I  should 
die  to-night,  I  would  ask  you  to  wait  till  to-morrow." 

In  her  turn  Marianne  gently  said  :  "  Why  cannot  we  die 
at  once  ?  We  should  then  escape  this  last  great  pang,  and 
you  would  only  carry  our  memory  away  with  you." 

Once  again  did  the  cemetery  of  Janville  appear,  the  field 
of  peace,  where  dear  ones  already  slept,  and  where  they 
would  soon  join  them.  No  sadness  tinged  that  thought, 
however ;  they  hoped  that  they  would  lie  down  there  together 
on  the  same  day,  for  they  could  not  imagine  life,  one  with- 
out the  other.  And,  besides,  would  they  not  forever  live 
in  their  children ;  forever  be  united,  immortal,  in  their  race  ? 

"  Dear  father,  darling  mother,"  Benjamin  repeated  ;  "  it  is 
I  who  will  be  dead  to-morrow  if  I  do  not  go.  To  wait  for 
your  death  —  good  God  !  would  not  that  be  to  desire  it  ? 
You  must  still  live  long  years,  and  I  wish  to  live  like  you." 

There  came  another  pause,  then  Mathieu  and  Marianne 
replied  together  :  "  Go  then,  my  boy.  You  are  right,  one 
must  live." 

But  on  the  day  of  farewell,  what  a  wrench,  what  a  final 
pang  there  was  when  they  had  to  tear  themselves  from  that 
flesh  of  their  flesh,  all  that  remained  to  them,  in  order  to 
hand  over  to  life  the  supreme  gift  it  demanded  !  The  de- 
parture of  Nicolas  seemed  to  begin  afresh ;  again  came  the 
"  never  more  "  of  the  migratory  child  taking  wing,  given  to 
the  passing  wind  for  the  sowing  of  unknown  distant  lands, 
far  beyond  the  frontiers. 

"  Never  more  !  "  cried  Mathieu  in  tears. 

And  Marianne  repeated  in  a  great  sob  which  rose  from 
the  very  depths  of  her  being :  "  Never  more !  Never 
more  !  " 

There  was  now  no  longer  any  mere  question  of  increasing 
a  family,  of  building  up  the  country  afresh,  of  re-peopling 
France  for  the  struggles  of  the  future,  the  question  was  one 
of  the  expansion  of  humanity,  of  the  reclaiming  of  deserts, 
of  the  peopling  of  the  entire  earth.  After  one's  country 
came  the  earth ;  after  one's  family,  one's  nation,  and  then 


486  FRUITFULNESS 

mankind.  And  what  an  invading  flight,  what  a  sudden  out- 
look upon  the  world's  immensity  !  All  the  freshness  of 
the  oceans,  all  the  perfumes  of  virgin  continents,  blended 
in  a  mighty  gust  like  a  breeze  from  the  offing.  Scarcely 
fifteen  hundred  million  souls  are  to-day  scattered  through 
the  few  cultivated  patches  of  the  globe,  and  is  that  not 
indeed  paltry,  when  the  globe,  ploughed  from  end  to  end, 
might  nourish  ten  times  that  number  ?  What  narrowness 
of  mind  there  is  in  seeking  to  limit  mankind  to  its  present 
figure,  in  admitting  simply  the  continuance  of  exchanges 
among  nations,  and  of  capitals  dying  where  they  stand  — as 
Babylon,  Nineveh,  and  Memphis  died  —  while  other  queens 
of  the  earth  arise,  inherit,  and  flourish  amid  fresh  forms  of 
civilization,  and  this  without  population  ever  more  increas- 
ing !  Such  a  theory  is  deadly,  for  nothing  remains  station- 
ary :  whatever  ceases  to  increase  decreases  and  disappears. 
Life  is  the  rising  tide  whose  waves  daily  continue  the  work 
of  creation,  and  perfect  the  work  of  awaited  happiness, 
which  shall  come  when  the  times  are  accomplished.  The 
flux  and  reflux  of  nations  are  but  periods  of  the  forward 
march  :  the  great  centuries  of  light,  which  dark  ages  at 
times  replace,  simply  mark  the  phases  of  that  march. 
Another  step  forward  is  ever  taken,  a  little  more  of  the 
earth  is  conquered,  a  little  more  life  is  brought  into  play. 
The  law  seems  to  lie  in  a  double  phenomenon ;  fruitfulness 
creating  civilization,  and  civilization  restraining  fruitfulness. 
And  equilibrium  will  come  from  it  all  on  the  day  when  the 
earth,  being  entirely  inhabited,  cleared,  and  utilized,  shall  at 
last  have  accomplished  its  destiny.  And  the  divine  dream, 
the  generous  Utopian  thought  soars  into  the  heavens  ;  families 
blended  into  nations,  nations  blended  into  mankind,  one  sole 
brotherly  people  making  of  the  world  one  sole  city  of  peace 
and  truth  and  justice  !  Ah  !  may  eternal  fruitfulness  ever 
expand,  may  the  seed  of  humanity  be  carried  over  the 
frontiers,  peopling  the  untilled  deserts  afar,  and  increasing 
mankind  through  the  coming  centuries  until  dawns  the 
reign  of  sovereign  life,  mistress  at  last  both  of  time  and 
of  space  ! 


FRUITFULNESS  487 

And  after  the  departure  of  Benjamin,  whom  Dominique 
took  with  him,  Mathieu  and  Marianne  recovered  the  joyful 
serenity  and  peace  born  of  the  work  which  they  had  so 
prodigally  accomplished.  Nothing  more  was  theirs  ;  noth- 
ing save  the  happiness  of  having  given  all  to  life.  The 
"  Never  more  "  of  separation  became  the  "  Still  more  "  of 
life  —  life  incessantly  increasing,  expanding  beyond  the 
limitless  horizon.  Candid  and  smiling,  those  all  but  cen- 
tenarian heroes  triumphed  in  the  overflowing  florescence 
of  their  race.  The  milk  had  streamed  even  athwart  the 
seas  —  from  the  old  land  of  France  to  the  immensity  of 
virgin  Africa,  the  young  and  giant  France  of  to-morrow. 
After  the  foundation  of  Chantebled,  on  a  disdained,  neg- 
lected spot  of  the  national  patrimony,  another  Chantebled 
was  rising  and  becoming  a  kingdom  in  the  vast  deserted 
tracts  which  life  yet  had  to  fertilize.  And  this  was  the 
exodus,  human  expansion  throughout  the  world,  mankind 
upon  the  march  towards  the  Infinite. 

England.  —  August  i8g8-May 


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